A child is a curly, dimpled lunatic. - Ralph Waldo Emerson

We boil at different degrees.

England's genius filled all measure Of heart and soul, of strength and pleasure, Gave to the mind its emperor, And life was larger than before: Nor sequent centuries could hit Orbit and sum of Shakespeare's wit. The men who lived with him became Poets, for the air was fame.

Have mountains, and waves, and skies, no significance but what we consciously give them, when we employ them as emblems of our thoughts?