My altars are the mountains and the ocean.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.
A thirst for gold, The beggar's vice, which can but overwhelm The meanest hearts.
I have great hopes that we shall love each other all our lives as much as if we had never married at all.
A material resurrection seems strange and even absurd except for purposes of punishment, and all punishment which is to revenge rather than correct must be morally wrong, and when the World is at an end, what moral or warning purpose can eternal tortures answer?
The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.