O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, — Nature’s observatory — whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river’s crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
’Mongst boughs pavillion’d, where the deer’s swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
But though I’ll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin’d,
Is my soul’s pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

Love, the most generous passion of the mind The softest refuge innocence can find

... There's a joy, To the fond votaries of fame unknown, To hear the still small voice of conscience speak In whisp'ring plaudit to the silent soul.

The naïve comments of a well born child sometimes express a very attractive philosophy.

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, The quiet mind is richer than a crown...

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown.

Innocence is thought charming because it offers delightful possibilities for exploitation.

The best, most beautiful, and most perfect way that we have of expressing a sweet concord of mind to each other, is by music. When I would form in my mind an idea of a society in the highest degree happy, I think of them as expressing their love, their joy, and the inward concord and harmony and spiritual beauty of their souls by sweetly singing to each other.

Spontaneous eloquence seems to me a miracle.

Poetry comes fine-spun from a mind at ease.

It's a kindness that the mind can go where it wishes.

I could hear the voice that, speaking to me, was always tender with pity — yet not pity enough to wound: I could see the peculiar smile just creeping round his grave mouth — that irrepressible smile, indicating the atmosphere of thorough heart-cheerfulness, which ripens all the fruits of a noble nature, and without which the very noblest has about it something unwholesome, blank, and cold.

The essential self is innocent, and when it tastes its own innocence knows that it lives for ever.

Any sincere thought is irresistible.