How many books there are whose reputation is made that would not obtain it were it now to make?

Nothing which does not transport is poetry. The lyre is a winged instrument.

Words become luminous when the poet's finger has passed over them its phosphorescence.

Our life is woven wind.

A fluent writer always seems more talented than he is. To write well, one needs a natural felicity and an acquired difficulty.

Criticism even should not be without its charms. When quite devoid of all amenities, it is no longer literary.

A thought is a thing as real as a cannonball.