O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings.
O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been Cooled a long age in the deep-delvid earth.
Pass into nothingness.
Philosophy will clip an angel's wings.
Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
Scenery is fine - but human nature is finer.
She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.
What the imagination seizes as beauty must be the truth.
When I have fears that I may cease to be, Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain.
Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds along the pebbled shore of memory! 12