By all that is sacred in our hope for the human race, I conjure those who love happiness and truth to give a fair trial to the vegetable system!

Near that a dusty paint-box, some odd hooks, A half-burnt match, an ivory block, three books, Where conic sections, spherics, logarithms, To great Laplace, from Saunderson and Sims, Lie heaped in their harmonious disarray Of figures,-disentangle them who may.

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind; Through desert woods and tracts, which seem Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

I have drunken deep of joy.

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.

All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil

A God made by man undoubtedly has need of man to make himself known to man.