Not to ask is not be denied.

Whatever is, is in its causes just.

He invades authors like a monarch; and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him.

Happy the man, and happy he alone, he who can call today his own; he who, secure within, can say, tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today.

The blushing beauties of a modest maid.

Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.

Only man clogs his happiness with care, destroying what is with thoughts of what may be.