A Moment's Thought Is Passion's Passing Knell.

When It Is Moving On Luxurious Wings, The Soul Is Lost In Pleasant Smotherings.

How Does The Poet Speak To Men With Power, But By Being Still More A Man Than They

We Have Woven A Web, You And I, Attached To This World But A Separate World Of Our Own Invention.

I Equally Dislike The Favor Of The Public With The Love Of A Woman - They Are Both A Cloying Treacle To The Wings Of Independence.

There Is An Electric Fire In Human Nature Tending To Purify - So That Among These Human Creatures There Is Continually Some Birth Of New Heroism. The Pity Is That We Must Wonder At It, As We Should At Finding A Pearl In Rubbish.