I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

I have so much of you in my heart.

I will clamber through the clouds and exist.

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

Many have original minds who do not think it - they are led away by custom!

Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.