Here in a little lonely room I am master of earth and sea, And the planets come to me.

And I would have, now love is over, An end to all, an end: I cannot, having been your lover Stoop to become your friend!

Criticism is properly the rod of divination: a hazel switch for the discovery of buried treasure, not a birch twig for the castigation of offenders.

A place has almost the shyness of a person, with strangers; and its secret is not to be surprised by a too direct interrogation.

Night, a more perfect day.

He knew that the whole mystery of beauty can never be comprehended by the crowd, and that while clearness is a virtue of style, perfect explicitness is not a necessary virtue.

What we ask of him is, that he should find out for us more than we can find out for ourselves... He must have the passion of a lover.