Mont Blanc is the monarch of mountains; They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow.

A quiet conscience makes one so serene.

I am surrounded here by parsons and methodists, but as you will see, not infested with the mania.

I would rather have a nod from an American, than a snuff- box from an emperor.

My altars are the mountains and the ocean.

The best prophet of the future is the past.

This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing To waft me from distraction.