For me, Romanticism is the most recent and the most current expression of beauty.

It is at despair at not being able to be noble and beautiful by natural means that we have made up our faces so strangely.

The Devil pulls the strings which make us dance; We find delight in the most loathsome things; Some furtherance of Hell each new day brings, And yet we feel no horror in that rank advance.

The immense profundity of thought in vulgar locutions, like holes dug by generations of ants.

The whole visible universe is but a storehouse of images and signs to which the imagination will give a relative place and value; it is a sort of pasture which the imagination must digest and transform.

Above my cradle loomed the bookcase where/ Latin ashes and the dust of Greece/ mingled with novels, history, and verse/ in one dark Babel. I was folio-high/ when I first heard the voices.

There exist only three beings worthy of respect: the priest, the soldier, the poet. To know, to kill, to create.