They who disbelieve in virtue because man has never been found perfect, might as reasonably deny the sun because it is not always noon.

The mind is like a trunk: if well-packed, it holds almost every thing; if ill-packed, next to nothing.

Light, when suddenly let in, dazzles and hurts and almost blinds us: but this soon passes away, and it seems to become the only element we can exist in.

Nature is mighty. Art is mighty. Artifice is weak. For nature is the work of a mightier power than man. Art is the work of man under the guidance and inspiration of a mightier power. Artifice is the work of mere man, in the imbecility of his mimic understanding.

Few are aware that they want any thing, except pounds schillings and pence.

The poet sees things as they look. Is this having a faculty the less? or a sense the more?

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.