Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

Without Unceasing Practice nothing can be done. Practice is Art. If you leave off you are lost.

When a sinister person means to be your enemy, they always start by trying to become your friend.

Without minute neatness of execution, the sublime cannot exist! Grandeur of ideas is founded on precision of ideas.

Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion.

Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening, Now, whilst the sun rests on the mountains, light Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!

Travelers repose and dream among my leaves.