Letter writing is the only device combining solitude with good company.

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.

The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.

To withdraw myself from myself has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all.

That low vice, curiosity!

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse borne away with every breath! Misplaced upon the throne misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feel I am not what I should be let it end.