Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting.

Faith is, necessary to explain anything, and to reconcile the foreknowledge of God with human evil.

I've watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! Indeed I know not if you sleep or feed. How motionless! - not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

Wild is the music of autumnal winds Amongst the faded woods.

The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.

Therefore am I still a lover of the meadows and the woods, and mountains; and of all that we behold from this green earth.

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.