The poet's place, it seems to me, is with the Mr. Hydes of human nature.
The only truly consistent are the dead.
Dream in a pragmatic way.
The pleasures of ignorance are as great, in their way, as the pleasures of knowledge.
Happiness has got to be paid for. You're paying for it, Mr. Watson–paying because you happen to be too much interested in beauty. I was too much interested in truth; I paid too.
Nothing short of everything will really do.