A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

I exist as I am, that is enough, If no other in the world be aware, I sit content, And if each and all be aware, I sit content.

Shut not your doors to me proud libraries.

Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space.

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

Re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem, and have the richest fluency, not only in its words, but in the silent lines of its lips and face, and between the lashes of your eyes, and in every motion and joint of your body.

I cannot be awake for nothing looks to me as it did before, Or else I am awake for the first time, and all before has been a mean sleep.