I speak with the Eternal through the instrument of nature, through the world's history: I read the soul of the artist in his Apollo.
To live is to dream, and to dream pleasantly is to be wise.
Thus Arm in Arm with thee I dare defy my century into the lists.
Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.
Wine invents nothing; it only tattles.
The zeal of friends it is that razes me, And not the hate of enemies.