Wine is only sweet to happy men.
I never can feel certain of any truth, but from a clear perception of its beauty.
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.
A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.
Blessed is the healthy nature; it is the coherent, sweetly co-operative, not incoherent, self-distracting, self-destructive one!