I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.

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.

Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.

was it a vision or a waking dream? Fled is that music--do I wake or sleep?

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.

I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.