Travelers Repose And Dream Among My Leaves.

Why Cannot The Ear Be Closed To Its Own Destruction? Or The Glistening Eye To The Poison Of A Smile?

Imagination Is The Real And Eternal World Of Which This Vegetable Universe Is But A Faint Shadow.

Every Night And Every Morn Some To Misery Are Born. Every Morn And Every Night Some Are Born To Sweet Delight, Some Are Born To Endless Night.

As I Was Walking Among The Fires Of Hell, Delighted With The Enjoyments Of Genius; Which To Angels Look Like Torment And Insanity, I Collected Some Of Their Proverbs.

I Am Really Sorry To See My Countrymen Trouble Themselves About Politics. If Men Were Wise, The Most Arbitrary Princes Could Not Hurt Them. If They Are Not Wise, The Freest Government Is Compelled To Be A Tyranny. Princes Appear To Me To Be Fools. Houses Of Commons And Houses Of Lords Appear To Me To Be Fools; They Seem To Me To Be Something Else Besides Human Life.