I never knew before, what such a love as you have made me feel, was; I did not believe in it; my Fancy was afraid of it, lest it should burn me up. But if you will fully love me, though there may be some fire, 'twill not be more than we can bear when moistened and bedewed with Pleasures.

You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.

The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.

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

O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!

In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity.

My creed is love and you are its only tenet.