Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire.

He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise the other.

The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?

Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.

And nobler is a limited command, Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.

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.

Home is the sacred refuge of our life.