Joanna Baillie

I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!

The inward sighs of humble penitence rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal?d hymns are scatter?d with the sounds of common air.

A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.

I would, God knows, in a poor woodman?s hut have spent my peaceful days, and shared my crust with her who would have cheer?d me, rather far than on this throne; but being what I am, I?ll be it nobly.

The strength of man sinks in the hour of trial: but there doth live a power that to the battle girdeth the weak.

A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to hear is in immediate danger.

If my heart were not light, I would die.

The tyrant now Trusts not to men: nightly within his chamber The watch-dog guards his couch, the only friend He now dare trust.

Busy work brings after ease; Ease brings sport and sport brings rest; For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.

It ever is the marked propensity of restless and aspiring minds to look into the stretch of dark futurity.

The visions of a busy brain.

But dreams full oft are found of real events the form and shadows.

Men?s actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.

Think?st thou there are no serpents in the world but those who slide along the grassy sod, and sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life do bask their spotted skins in Fortune?s sun, and sting the soul.

But woman's grief is like a summer storm, short as it violent is.

My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.

This pure air braces the listless nerves, and warms the blood: I feel in freedom here.

Dreams full oft are found of real events the forms and shadows.

O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?

This will be triumph! This will be happiness! Yea, that very thing, happiness, which I have been pursuing all my life, and have never yet overtaken.

From the sad years of life we sometimes do short hours, yea, minutes strike, keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten; which, through the dreary gloom of time o'erpast, shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.

O mysterious Night! thou art not silent; many tongues hast thou.

Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.

He is so full of pleasant anecdote; so rich, so gay, so poignant in his wit, time vanishes before him as he speaks, and ruddy morning through the lattice peeps ere night seems well begun.

Oh swiftly glides the bonnie boat, Just parted from the shore, And to the fisher's chorus-note Soft moves the dipping oar.