Books are the bees which carry the quickening pollen from one to another mind.

Listen! O, listen! Here come the hum the golden bees Underneath full blossomed trees, At once with glowing fruit and flowers crowned.

Of all the sarse that I can call to mind, / England does make the most onpleasant kind: / It's you're the sinner 'ollers, she's the saint; / Wut's good's all English, all thet isn't ain't.

It is by presence of mind in untried emergencies that the native metal of a man is tested

Freedom is the only law which genius knows.

A weed is no more than a flower in disguise, Which is seen through at once, if love give a man eyes.