The cloud shadows of midnight possess their own repose.

It is among men of genius and science that atheism alone is found.

All spirits are enslaved which serve things evil

Those who love not their fellow-beings live unfruitful lives, and prepare for their old age a miserable grave.

We rest; a dream has power to poison sleep. We rise; one wand'ring thought pollutes the day. We feel, conceive, or reason; laugh or weep, Embrace fond woe, or cast our cares away; It is the same: for, be it joy or sorrow, The path of its departure still is free. Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow; Nought may endure but Mutability!

All high poetry is infinite; it is as the first acorn, which contained all oaks potentially.

No more let life divide what death can join together.