Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind--But how could I forget thee?

Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

And suddenly all your troubles melt away, all your worries are gone, and it is for no reason other than the look in your partner's eyes. Yes, sometimes life and love really is that simple.

He who feels contempt for any living thing hath faculties that he hath never used, and thought with him is in its infancy.

But thou that didst appear so fair To fond imagination, Dost rival in the light of day Her delicate creation.

In ourselves our safety must be sought. By our own right hand it must be wrought.