Date: Saturday, June 28, 1712

"By this means they awaken other Ideas of the same Sett, which immediately determine a new Dispatch of Spirits, that in the same manner open other Neighbouring Traces, till at last the whole Sett of them is blown up, and the whole Prospect or Garden flourishes in the Imagination."

— Addison, Joseph (1672-1719)

Date: 1713, 1734

"And although it may, perhaps, seem an uneasy reflexion to some, that when they have taken a circuit through so many refined and unvulgar notions, they should at last come to think like other men: yet, methinks, this return to the simple dictates of Nature, after having wandered through the wild ...

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: 1713

"Your soul (continued he) being at liberty to transport herself with a thought wherever she pleases, may enter into the Pineal Gland of the most learned philosopher, and, being so placed, become spectator of all the ideas in his mind, which would instruct her in a much less time than the usual me...

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: 1713

"Sometimes, to wander through perfumed groves, or enamelled meadows, in the fancy of a poet."

— Berkeley, George (1685-1753)

Date: 1713

"But oh! my Friends, your Safety fills my Heart / With anxious Thoughts: A thousand secret Terrors, / Rise in my Soul."

— Addison, Joseph (1672-1719)

Date: 1713

"Imperial Reason keeps her awful Throne, / Above the Tumult reigns unmov'd alone: / At her Command intestine Discords cease, / And all th' inferiour Pow'rs lie hush'd in Peace."

— Trapp, Joseph (1679-1747)

Date: 1713

"In a Glass-House, the Workmen often fling in a small quantity of fresh Coals, which seems to disturb the Fire, but very much enlivens it. This seems to allude to a gentle stirring of the Passions, that the Mind may not languish."

— Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745)

Date: 1714

"This foolish Woman hangs about my Heart, / Lingers, and wanders in my Fancy still."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)

Date: 1714

"'Tis all in vain, this Rage that tears thy Bosom, / Like a poor Bird that flutters in its Cage, / Thou beat'st thy self to Death."

— Rowe, Nicholas (1674-1718)