Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.

Philosophers have often held dispute As to the seat of thought in man and brute For that the power of thought attends the latter My friend, thy beau, hath made a settled matter, And spite of dogmas current in all ages, One settled fact is better than ten sages. (O,Tempora! O,Mores!)

It may be roundly asserted that human ingenuity cannot concoct a cipher which human ingenuity cannot resolve.

I am walking like a bewitched corpse, with the certainty of being eaten by the infinite, of being annulled by the only existing Absurd.

No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Even for those to whom life and death are equal jests. There are some things that are still held in respect.