The thoughts which the word "God" suggests to the human mind are susceptible of as many variations as human minds themselves.

Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams The blue Mediterranean, where he lay, Lull'd by the coil of his crystalline streams Beside a pumice isle in Baiæ's bay, And saw in sleep old palaces and towers Quivering within the wave's intenser day, All overgrown with azure moss and flowers So sweet, the sense faints picturing them.

Men must reap the things they sow, Force from force must ever flow.

All love is sweet, given or received.

The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.

When a thing is said to be not worth refuting you may be sure that either it is flagrantly stupid - in which case all comment is superfluous - or it is something formidable, the very crux of the problem.

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.