We are still in Eden; the wall that shuts us out is our own ignorance and folly.

How lovely are the portals of the night, when stars come out to watch the daylight die.

It is the sky that makes the earth so lovely at sunrise, and so splendid at sunset. In the one it breathes over the earth the crystal-like ether, in the other the liquid gold.

To walk with nature as a poet is the necessary condition of a perfect artist.

Overall, rocks, wood and water, brooded the spirit of repose, and the silent energy of nature stirred the soul to its innermost depths.

Now nature is not at variance with art, nor art with nature; they being both the servants of his providence. Art is the perfection of nature. Were the world now as it was the sixth day, there were yet a chaos. Nat, are unconscious of the harmony of creation.

None know how often the hand of God is seen in a wilderness but them that rove it for a man's life.