I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart's affections, and the truth of imagination.

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, Flushing his brow.

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks Our ready minds to fellowship divine, A fellowship with essence; till we shine, Full alchemiz’d, and free of space. Behold The clear religion of heaven!

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

I scarcely remember counting upon happiness—I look not for it if it be not in the present hour—nothing startles me beyond the moment. The setting sun will always set me to rights, or if a sparrow come before my Window I take part in its existence and pick about the gravel.