All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.

[At a musical concert:] . . . the music's pure algebra of enchantment.

Poetry will absorb and transmute, as it always has done, and glorify, all that we can know.

I really don't know enough about the structure of fiction.

He whose first emotion, on the view of an excellent work, is to undervalue or depreciate it, will never have one of his own to show.

The hiss was now becoming a roar - the whole world was a vast moving screen of snow - but even now it said peace, it said remoteness, it said cold, it said sleep.

All lovely things will have an ending, all lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, Will beg a penny by and by.