The reason of idleness and of crime is the deferring of our hopes.
The walls of rude minds are scrawled all over with facts, with thoughts. They shall one day bring a lantern and read the inscriptions.
Sympathy is a supporting atmosphere, and in it we unfold easily and well.
We cannot forgive another for not being ourselves.
Nature suffers nothing to remain in her kingdom which cannot help itself.
The poem is a confession of faith.