The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children. The mighty abstract idea I have of beauty in all things stifles the more divided and minute domestic happiness.
Death is Life's high meed.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
Knowledge enormous makes a god of me.
I find I cannot exist without Poetry
We have oftener than once endeavoured to attach some meaning to that aphorism, vulgarly imputed to Shaftesbury, which however we can find nowhere in his works, that "ridicule is the test of truth."