I have taken pride in others, never in myself.

Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.

What name to call thee by, O virgin fair, I know not, for thy looks are not of earth And more than mortal seems thy countenances

From thought to thought, from mountain peak to mountain. Love leads me on; for I can never still My trouble on the world's well beaten ways.

You keep to your own ways and leave mine to me.

I looked back at the summit of the mountain, which seemed but a cubit high in comparison with the height of human contemplation, were in not too often merged in the corruptions of the earth.

There is no lighter burden, nor more agreeable, than a pen.