We love and live in power; it is the spirit’s end. Mind must subdue; to conquer is its life.
All things that speak of heaven speak of peace.
Poets are all who love, who feel great truths, And tell them; and the truth of truths is love.
None but the brave and beautiful can love.
Life is less than nothing without love.
Who can mistake great thoughts? They seize upon the mind; arrest and search, And shake it; bow the tall soul as by wind; Rush over it like a river reeds.
The beautiful are never desolate; But some one alway loves them – God or man. If man abandons, God himself takes them.
Write to the mind and heart, and let the ear Glean after what it can.
The worst men often give the best advice. Our deeds are sometimes better than our thoughts.
Music tells no truths.
What men call accident is God’s own part.
We must not pluck death from the Maker’s hand.
The ground of all great thoughts is sadness.
The death-bed of a day, how beautiful!
Death is the universal salt of states; Blood is the base of all things – law and war.
For ivy climbs the crumbling hall To decorate decay.
As the master so the valet.
Hell is the wrath of God – His hate of sin.
Burn to be great, Pay not thy praise to lofty things alone. The plains are everlasting as the hills, The bard cannot have two pursuits; aught else Comes on the mind with the like shock as though Two worlds had gone to war, and met in air.
The heart is its own Fate.