Modesty And Dew Love The Shade.

It Is Because Of The Servility Of Photography That I Am Fundamentally Contemptuous Of This Chance Invention Which Will Never Be An Art But Which Plagiarizes Nature By Means Of Optics. (1848)

Habit With It's Iron Sinews, Clasps Us And Leads Us Day By Day.

What Mortal Is There, Over Whose First Joys And Happiness Does Not Break Some Storm, Dispelling With Its Icy Breath His Fanciful Illusions, And Shattering His Altar?

Private Passions Grow Tired And Wear Themselves Out; Political Passions, Never.

And When Night, Guiding Her Bright Train Of Stars, Throws O'er The Sleeping World Her Gloomy Veil, Lonely Amidst The Desert And The Darkness, Musing Upon The Night's Calm Majesty; Wrapt Up In Quietness, With Shade And Silence, My Soul More Closely Worshippeth Thy Presence; With An Internal Day I Feel Enlighten'd, And Hear A Voice, Which Biddeth Me To Hope.