Let us away, my love, with happy speed; There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, - Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead. Awake! arise! my love and fearless be, For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee.

The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.

O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.

The world is too brutal for me-I am glad there is such a thing as the grave-I am sure I shall never have any rest till I get there.

To silence gossip, don't repeat it.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty