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

The harvest of a quiet eye, That broods and sleeps on his own heart.

Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.

Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.

Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

Wisdom sits with children round her knees.