To observe attentively is to remember distinctly.

And all I loved, I loved alone.

There is no passion in nature so demoniacally impatient, as that of him who, shuddering upon the edge of a precipice, thus meditates a Plunge.

A poem in my opinion, is opposed to a work of science by having for its immediate object, pleasure, not truth.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

Most writers - poets in especial - prefer having it understood that they compose by a species of fine frenzy - an ecstatic intuition - and would positively shudder at letting the public take a peep behind the scenes.

The goodness of your true pun is in the direct ratio of its intolerability.