The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple.

Natural emotion is the soul of poetry, as melody is of music; the same faults are engendered by over-study of either art; there is a lack of sincerity, of irresistible impulse in both the poet and the, composer.

Genius does not need a special language; it uses newly whatever tongue it finds.

The poet who does not revere his art, and believe in its sovereignty, is not born to wear the purple.

Alas, by what rude fate Our lives, like ships at sea, an instant meet, Then part forever on their courses fleet.

A poet must sing for his own people.

Progress comes by experiment, and this from ennui that leads to voyages, wars, revolutions, and plainly to change in the arts of expression; that cries out to the imagination, and is the nurse of the invention whereof we term necessity the mother.