O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind Till it is hush'd and smooth!

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

For axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses.

The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.

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

We must repeat the often repeated saying, that it is unworthy a religious man to view an irreligious one either with alarm or aversion, or with any other feeling than regret and hope and brotherly commiseration.

Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.