The fancy is indeed no other than a mode of memory emancipated from the order of time and space.

No man does anything from a single motive.

May all the stars hang bright above her dwelling, Silent as though they watched the sleeping earth!

Heart-chilling superstition! thou canst glaze even Pity's eye with her own frozen tear.

Every reform, however necessary, will by weak minds be carried to an excess, that itself will need reforming.

And the Devil did grin, for his darling sin is pride that apes humility.

The sense of beauty is intuitive, and beauty itself is all that inspires pleasure without, and aloof from, and even contrarily to interest.