I find I cannot exist without Poetry

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains/ My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.

Works of genius are the first things in the world.

O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings

Conversation is not a search after knowledge, but an endeavor at effect.

If something is not beautiful, it is probably not true.

Let us not go hurrying about and collecting honey, bee-like buzzing here and there for a knowledge of what is not to be arrived at, but let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive, budding patiently under the eye of Apollo, and taking hints from every noble insect that favours us with a visit - sap will be given us for meat and dew for drink.