The most dire disaster in love is the death of imagination.

Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars. Oh, wisdom never comes when it is gold, And the great price we paid for it full worth: We have it only when we are half earth. Little avails that coinage to the old!

The man or country that fights priestcraft and priests is to my mind striking deeper for freedom than can be struck anywhere.

Prepare, You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods: Not like hard life, of laws.

Heiresses are never jilted.

Poetry is talking on tiptoe.

The well of true wit is truth itself.