Those old credulities, to Nature dear, Shall they no longer bloom upon the stock Of history?

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

Thou best philosopher, who yet dost keep/ Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind.

Neither evil tongues, rash judgments, nor the sneers of selfish men, nor greetings where no kindness is, nor all the dreary intercourse of daily life, shall ever prevail against us.

We murder to dissect.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink I heard a voice it said Drink, pretty creature, drink'