One thought fills immensity.

The ancient Poets animated all sensible objects with Gods or Geniuses, calling them by the names and adorning them with the properties of woods, rivers, mountains, lakes, cities, nations, and whatever their enlarged & numerous senses could perceive.

The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.

We are not meant to resolve all contradictions but to live with them and rise above them.

Innocence dwells with Wisdom, but never with ignorance.

O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe; And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.

Desperate remorse swallows the present in a quenchless rage.