There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

A drop of ink may make a million think.

Fills The air around with beauty.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print. A book's a book, although there's nothing in 't.

Happiness was born a twin.

A timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They have a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.