A pleasure so exquisite as almost to amount to pain.

Those who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an infant child. Their other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and suffer all the changes of mortality; but this one alone is rendered an immortal child; for death has arrested it with his kindly harshness, and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence.

Poetry is the breath of beauty.

If you are melancholy for the first time, you will find, upon a little inquiry, that others have been melancholy many times, and yet are cheerful now.

The rapturuous, wild, and ineffable pleasure of drinking at somebody else's expense

I am persuaded there is no such thing after all as a perfect enjoyment of solitude; for the more delicious the solitude the more one wants a companion.

No wonder is greater than any other wonder, and if once explained ceases to be a wonder.