What, start at this! when sixty years have spread. Their grey experience o'er thy hoary head? Is this the all observing age could gain? Or hast thou known the world so long in vain?

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.

Take the good the gods provide thee.

Shakespeare was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of the books to read nature; he looked inward, and found her there.

The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes And gaping mouth, that testified surprise.

Faith is to believe what you do not yet see: the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. Thus all below is strength, and all above is grace.

Among our crimes oblivion may be set.