Nothing Wilts Faster Than Laurels That Have

I Arise From Dreams Of Thee In The First Sweet Sleep Of Night, When The Winds Are Breathing Low, And The Stars Are Shining Bright.

Where Is Perfection? Where I Cannot Reach.

The Great Instrument Of Moral Good Is The Imagination.

The Same Means That Have Supported Every Other Popular Belief Have Supported Christianity. War, Imprisonment, And Falsehood; Deeds Of Unexampled And Incomparable Atrocity Have Made It What It Is.

O, Wind, If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?