There is pleasure in the pathless woods, there is rapture in the lonely shore, there is society where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar; I love not Man the less, but Nature more.

Many are poets, but without the name;For what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill; and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain

He who surpasses or subdues mankind, must look down on the hate of those below.

I cannot describe to you the despairing sensation of trying to do something for a man who seems incapable or unwilling to do anything further for himself.

Still from the fount of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings.

Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

Smiles form the channels of a future tear.