Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

Myriads of daisies have shone forth in flower Near the lark's nest, and in their natural hour Have passed away; less happy than the one That by the unwilling ploughshare died to prove The tender charm of poetry and love.

The human mind is capable of excitement without the application of gross and violent stimulants; and he must have a very faint perception of its beauty and dignity who does not know this.

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

... and we shall find A pleasure in the dimness of the stars.

Knowing that Nature never did betray the heart that loved her; 'tis her privilege, through all the years of this our life, to lead from joy to joy.

Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.