Where others see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the soul of God shouting for joy.

How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!

If you, who are organised by Divine Providence for spiritual communion, refuse, and bury your talent in the earth, even though you should want natural bread, sorrow and desperation pursue you through life, and after death shame and confusion of face to eternity.

The world of imagination is the world of eternity.

Although wine when it is read somewhat lacks the savour of wine when it is drunk, wine remains a very pleasant thing both to read about and to chat about.

Mercy, pity, and peace, Are the world's release.

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