Are there not thousands in the world who love their fellows even to the death, who feel the giant agony of the world, and more, like slaves to poor humanity, labor for mortal good?

Much have I traveled in the realms of gold, and many goodly states and kingdoms seen.

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

I should write for the mere yearning and fondness I have for the beautiful, even if my night's labors should be burnt every morning and no eye shine upon them.

My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.

Works of genius are the first things in the world.

... Who alive can say 'Thou art no Poet - mayst not tell thy dreams'? Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved, And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.