Here lies one whose name was writ in water.

It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.

How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they

Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.

The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing, to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.

I have an habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am leading a posthumous existence.

So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.