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.
I have met with women whom I really think would like to be married to a Poem and to be given away by a Novel.
A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory.
Oh what can ail thee, knight-at-arms, Alone and palely loitering?
You cannot conceive how I ache to be with you: how I would die for one hour.
And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes.