Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.

For 'Tis not in mere death that men die most.

You're something between a dream and a miracle.

The charm, one might say the genius, of memory is that it is choosy, chancy and temperamental; it rejects the edifying cathedral and indelibly photographs the small boy outside, chewing a hunk of melon in the dust.

The critics could never mortify me out of heart - because I love poetry for its own sake, - and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation.

I begin to think that none are so bold as the timid, when they are fairly roused.

The beautiful seems right by force of beauty and the feeble wrong because of weakness.