A God made by man undoubtedly has need of man to make himself known to man. - Percy Bysshe Shelley

A Poet is a nightingale who sits in darkness, and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds; his auditors are as men entranced by the melody of an unseen musician, who feel that they are moved and softened, yet know not whence or why.

I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on wh. we trample are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.

Friendship, a dear balm...
A smile among dark frowns: a beloved light: A solitude, a refuge, a delight.