So sweet the blush of bashfulness, E'en pity scarce can wish it less!
Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.
Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.
All who joy would win must share it. Happiness was born a Twin.
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.
I am the very slave of circumstance And impulse -- borne away with every breath!