The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning.

Kings are like stars,-they rise and set, they have The worship of the world, but no repose.

It were much better that a sentient being should never have existed, than that it should have existed only to endure unmitigated misery.

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

No one has yet been found resolute enough in dogmatizing to deny that Nature made man equal; that society has destroyed this equality is a truth not more incontrovertible.

Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken. Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the belovèd's bed; And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall slumber on.

The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?