I am a little world made cunningly Of elements, and an angelic sprite.

Licence my roving hands, and let them go Before, behind, between, above, below. O, my America, my Newfoundland My kingdom, safest when with one man mann'd, My …

At the round earth's imagin'd corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls, and to your scattred bodies…

Full nakedness! All joys are due to thee, As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, To taste whole joys.

I am nature.

I saw my Lord with the eye of the heart. I asked: Who art Thou? He answered: Thou.

Individualism is rather like innocence; there must be something unconscious about it.