I must choose between despair and Energy──I choose the latter.

... 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.

I could be martyred for my religion. Love is my religion and I could die for that. I could die for you.

To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.

I shall soon be laid in the quiet grave - thank God for the quiet grave

Where are the songs of Spring? Aye, where are they? Think not of them; thou has thy music too.

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