There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify - so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.

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

To silence gossip, don't repeat it.

Through the dancing poppies stole A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.

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.