Credulity is perhaps a weakness almost inseparable from eminently truthful characters.

There is to the poetical sense a ravishing prophecy and winsome intimation in flowers that now and then, from the influence of mood of circumstance, reasserts itself like the reminiscence of childhood, or the spell of love.

Literature is so common a luxury that the age has grown fastidious.

Reason is not time only interpreter of life. The fountain of action is in time feelings.

There is more or less of pathos in all true beauty. The delight it awakens has an indefinable, and, as it were, luxurious sadness, which is perhaps one element of its might.

Far better one unpurchased heart than glory's proudest name.

Without the definiteness of sculpture and painting, music is, for that very reason, far more suggestive. Like Milton's Eve, an outline, an impulse, is furnished, and the imagination does the rest.