Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To

O Magic Sleep! O Comfortable Bird, That Broodest O'er The Troubled Sea Of The Mind Till It Is Hush'd And Smooth!

Heard Melodies Are Sweet, But Those Unheard Are Sweeter.

It Appears To Me That Almost Any Man May Like The Spider Spin From His Own Inwards His Own Airy Citadel.

The Air Is All Softness.

I Never Can Feel Certain Of Any Truth, But From A Clear Perception Of Its Beauty.