The air is all softness.

My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.

Failure is in a sense the highway to success, as each discovery of what is false leads us to seek earnestly after what is true.

Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?

Call the world if you please "the vale of soul-making." Then you will find out the use of the world.

Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul, and does not startle it or amaze it with itself, but with its subject.

Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.