O Solitude! If I must with thee dwell, Let it not be among the jumbled heap of murky buildings
There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.
My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.
O latest born and loveliest vision far of all Olympus' faded hierarchy.
All clean and comfortable I sit down to write.
With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.