Switzerland is a curst, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world.

In the desert a fountain is springing, In the wide waste there still is a tree, And a bird in the solitude singing, Which speaks to my spirit of thee

Have not all past human beings parted, And must not all the present, one day part?

Of all the horrid, hideous notes of woe, Sadder than owl-songs or the midnight blast; Is that portentous phrase, "I told you so.

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.

I speak not of men's creeds—they rest between Man and his Maker.

Man's conscience is the oracle of God.