I heard an Angel singing; When the day was springing, Mercy, Pity, Peace; Is the world's release.

The pure soul shall mount on native wings, . . . and cut a path into the heaven of glory.

Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.

What seems to be, is, to those to whom it seems to be, and is productive of the most dreadful consequences to those to whom it seems to be, even of torments, despair, eternal death.

Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow; in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.

The inquiry in England is not whether a man has talents and genius, but whether he is passive and polite and a virtuous ass and obedient to noblemen's opinions in art and science. If he is, he is a good man. If not, he must be starved.

A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.