When I hear that a personal friend has fallen into matrimonial courses, I feel the same sorrow as if I had heard of his lapsing into theism — a holy sorrow, unmixed with anger.

The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog; not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.

On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.

Forget that I remember And dream that I forget.

There is no such thing as a dumb poet or a handless painter. The essence of an artist is that he should be articulate.

The delight that consumes the desire, The desire that outruns the delight.

Who knows but on their sleep may rise Such light as never heaven let through To lighten earth from Paradise?