When the melancholy fit shall fall Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud, That fosters the droop-headed flowers all, And hides the green hill in an April shroud; Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose.

The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.

And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.

Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.

We read fine things but never feel them to the full until we have gone the same steps as the author.

A moment's thought is passion's passing knell.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.