Most painters have painted themselves. So have most poets: not so palpably indeed, but more assiduously. Some have done nothing else.

I could hardly feel much confidence in a man who had never been imposed upon.

I bid you conquer in your warfare against your four great enemies, the world, the devil, the flesh, and above all, that obstinate and perverse self-will, unaided by which the other three would be comparatively powerless.

How deeply rooted must unbelief be in our hearts when we are surprised to find our prayers answered.

I like the smell of a dunged field, and the tumult of a popular election.

Seeking is not always the way to find.

If Painting be Poetry's sister, she can only be a sister Anne, who will see nothing but a flock of sheep, while the other bodies forth a troop of dragoons with drawn sabres and white-plumed helmets.