January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.
Where is perfection? Where I cannot reach.
Soul meets soul on lovers' lips.
A system could not well have been devised more studiously hostile to human happiness than marriage.
We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.
There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!
The great secret of morals is love; or a going out of our nature, and an identification of ourselves with the beautiful which exists in thought, action, or person, not our own. A man, to be greatly good, must imagine intensely and comprehensively; he must put himself in the place of another and of many others; the pains and pleasure of his species must become his own. The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.
Then black despair, The shadow of a starless night, was thrown Over the world in which I moved alone.
I love snow, snow, and all the forms of radiant frost.
I pant, I sink, I tremble, I expire!
Hell is a city much like London A populous and smoky city
Heaven's ebon vault Studded with stars unutterably bright, Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls, Seems like a canopy which love has spread To curtain her sleeping world.
Love's very pain is sweet
I wish no living thing to suffer pain.
Fame, power, and gold, are loved for their own sakes - are worshipped with a blind, habitual idolatry.
That orbed maiden, with white fire laden, Whom mortals call the moon.
The man of virtuous soul commands not, nor obeys.
The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.
Within my heart is the lamp of love, And that is day!
Persevere even though Hell and destruction should yawn beneath your feet.
It is not a merit to tolerate, but rather a crime to be intolerant.
It is only by softening and disguising dead flesh by culinary preparation that it is rendered susceptible of mastication or digestion, and that the sight of its bloody juices and raw horror does not excite intolerable loathing and disgust.
I love tranquil solitude And such society As is quiet, wise, and good.
Thou demandest what is love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves, when we find within our own thoughts the chasm of an insufficient void, and seek to awaken in all things that are, a community with what we experience within ourselves.
Life and the world, or whatever we call that which we are and feel, is an astonishing thing. The mist of familiarity obscures from us the wonder of our being. We are struck with admiration at some of its transient modifications, but it is itself the great miracle.
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