Faith is a passionate intuition.

A cheerful life is what the Muses love. A soaring spirit is their prime delight.

Though inland far we be, Our souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither.

Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

Write to me frequently & the longest letters possible; never mind whether you have facts or no to communicate; fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.

The bosom-weight, your stubborn gift, That no philosophy can lift.