A vi'let on the meadow grew, That no one saw, that no one knew, It was a modest flower. A shepherdess pass'd by that way-- Light footed, pretty and so gay; That way she came, Softly warbling forth her lay.

The field of experience is the whole universe in all directions. Theory remains shut up within the limits of human faculties.

How to please the public - that's the test, But nowadays I find I'm in a fix; I know they're not accustomed to the best, But they've all read so much they know the tricks. How can we give then something fresh and new That's serious, but entertaining too?

We will burn that bridge when we come to it.

The question "From where does the poet get it?" addresses only the what, nobody learns anything about the how when asking that question.

Chess is the touchstone of intellect.

Plants and flowers of the commonest kind can form a pleasing diary, because nothing which calls back to us the remembrance of a happy moment can be insignificant.