The spirits of the air live on the smells Of fruit; and joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees.

Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.

I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.

The busy bee has no time for sorrow.

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

Children of the future age Reading this indignant page Know that in a former time Love, sweet love, was thought a crime

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