This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
To be perfectly original one should think much and read little, and this is impossible, for one must have read before one has learnt to think.
And I would hear yet once before I perish The voice which was my music... Speak to me!
The dew of compassion is a tear.
For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch and Dante), he must be in love, or miserable.
Rough Johnson, the great moralist.