Let joy be unconfined.

There is no instinct like that of the heart.

This is to be mortal, And seek the things beyond mortality.

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.

Nothing so fretful, so despicable as a Scribbler, see what I am, and what a parcel of Scoundrels I have brought about my ears, and what language I have been obliged to treat them with to deal with them in their own way; - all this comes of Authorship.

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