There's a blush for won't, and a blush for shan't, and a blush for having done it: There's a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it.

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.

There is an awful warmth about my heart like a load of immortality.

The excellency of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeable evaporate.

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

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on; Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd, Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone.

Thou art a dreaming thing, A fever of thyself.