I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.
The pleasure that is in sorrow is sweeter than the pleasure of pleasure itself.
Twin-sister of Religion, Selfishness.
