Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people.

The mind can make substance, and people planets of its own with beings brighter than have been, and give a breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.

There is no passion, more spectral or fantastical than hate, not even its opposite, love, so peoples air, with phantoms, as this madness of the heart.

Tis sweet to listen as the night winds creep From leaf to leaf.

Though sages may pour out their wisdom's treasure, there is no sterner moralist than pleasure.

All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.

A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.