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

It was not that the jagged precipices were lofty, that the encircling woods were the dimmest shade, or that the waters were profoundly deep; but that over all, rocks, wood, and water, brooded the spirit of repose, and the silent energy of nature stirred the soul to its inmost depths.

If the imagination is shackled, and nothing is described but what we see, seldom will anything truly great be produced either in Painting or Poetry

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

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

If I live to be old enough, I may sit down under some bush, the last left in the utilitarian world, and feel thankful that intellect in its march has spared one vestige of the ancient forest for me to die by.

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