Imagination is the means of deep insight and sympathy, the power to conceive and express images removed from normal objective reality.

I bounded o'er the mountains, by the sides of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams, wherever nature led.

Fear is a cloak which old men huddle about their love, as if to keep it warm.

The flower that smells the sweetest is shy and lowly.

To me the meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Scorn not the sonnet. Critic, you have frowned, Mindless of its just honours; with this key Shakespeare unlocked his heart.

That though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.