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

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.

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

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

Nothing is invented and brought to perfection all at once.

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

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