Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.

Many a green isle needs must be In the deep wide sea of Misery, Or the mariner, worn and wan, Never thus could voyage on.

I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

Deep truth is imageless.

In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred; it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect.

January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.

Love withers under constraints: its very essence is liberty: it is compatible neither with obedience, jealousy, nor fear.