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

... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.

His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed.

When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And when I feel, fair creature of an hour, That I shall never look upon thee more, Never have relish in the faery power Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore Of the wide world I stand alone, and think Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

Wine is only sweet to happy men.

A man should have the fine point of his soul taken off to become fit for this world.

You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.