I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Thou foster-child of Silence and slow Time.

You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.

Failure is in a sense the highway to success, as each discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true.

Who would wish to be among the commonplace crowd of the little famous - who are each individually lost in a throng made up of themselves?

Tall oaks branch charmed by the earnest stars Dream and so dream all night without a stir.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.