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

I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman - they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.

Let us not go hurrying about and collecting honey, bee-like buzzing here and there for a knowledge of what is not to be arrived at, but let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive, budding patiently under the eye of Apollo, and taking hints from every noble insect that favours us with a visit - sap will be given us for meat and dew for drink.

...yes, in spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From out dark spirits.

We have oftener than once endeavoured to attach some meaning to that aphorism, vulgarly imputed to Shaftesbury, which however we can find nowhere in his works, that "ridicule is the test of truth."

Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?