Keep Thy Smooth Words And Juggling Homilies

But Words Are Things, And A Small Drop Of Ink, Falling Like Dew, Upon A Thought, Produces That Which Makes Thousands, Perhaps Millions, Think.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods, There Is Rapture In The Lonely Shore, There Is Society Where None Intrudes, By The Deep Sea, And Music In Its Roar; I Love Not Man The Less, But Nature More.

Despair And Genius Are Too Oft Connected

Fame Is The Thirst Of Youth.

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?