When the sun rises, do you not see a round disc of fire somewhat like a guinea? O no, no, I see an innumerable company of the heavenly host crying Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord God Almighty.

Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.

I must create a system or be enslaved by another mans; I will not reason and compare: my business is to create.

None but blockheads copy each other.

I have conversed with the spiritual Sun. I saw him on Primrose Hill

The stars are threshed, and the souls are threshed from their husks.