Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of

For A Moment My Soul Was Elevated From Its Debasing And Miserable Fears To Which These Sights Were The Monuments And The Remembrances. For An Instant I Dared To Shake Off My Chains, And Look Around Me With A Free And Lofty Spirit; But The Iron Had Eaten Into My Flesh, And I Sank Again, Trembling And Hopeless, Into My Miserable Self.

To Examine The Causes Of Life, We Must First Have Recourse To Death.

Standing Armies Can Never Consist Of Resolute Robust Men; They May Be Well-disciplined Machines, But They Will Seldom Contain Men Under The Influence Of Strong Passions, Or With Very Vigorous Faculties.

There Is Something At Work In My Soul Which I Do Not Understand. I Am Practically Industrious - Painstaking, A Workman To Execute With Perseverance And Labour - But Besides This There Is A Love For The Marvellous, A Belief In The Marvellous, Intertwined In All My Projects, Which Hurries Me Out Of The Common Pathways Of Men, Even To The Wild Sea And Unvisited Regions I Am About To Explore.

He Was Soon Borne Away By The Waves And Lost In Darkness And Distance.