Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!

How sad it is when a luxurious imagination is obliged in self defense to deaden its delicacy in vulgarity, and riot in things attainable that it may not have leisure to go mad after things that are not.

And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed, Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head.

To silence gossip, don't repeat it.

It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.

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

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes.