Most Pleasures Embrace Us But To Strangle.

The Land Of Marriage Has This Peculiarity: That Strangers Are Desirous Of Inhabiting It, While Its Natural Inhabitants Would Willingly Be Banished From Thence.

I Want Death To Find Me Planting My Cabbages, But Careless Of Death, And Still More Of My Unfinished Garden.

It Is Fear That I Stand Most In Fear Of, In Sharpness It Exceeds Every Other Feeling.

We Are Neither Obstinately Nor Wilfully To Oppose Evils, Nor Truckle Under Them For Want Of Courage, But That We Are Naturally To Give Way To Them, According To Their Condition And Our Own, We Ought To Grant Free Passage To Diseases; And I Find They Stay Less With Me Who Let Them Alone. And I Have Lost Those Which Are Reputed The Most Tenacious And Obstinate Of Their Own Defervescence, Without Any Help Or Art, And Contrary To Their Rules. Let Us A Little Permit Nature To Take Her Own Way; She Better Understands Her Own Affairs Than We.

The Good, Supreme, Divine Poetry Is Above The Rules And Reason. Whoever Discerns Its Beauty With A Firm, Sedate Gaze Does Not See It, Any More Than He Sees The Splendor Of A Lightning Flash. It Does Not Persuade Our Judgement, It Ravishes And Overwhelms It.