I, too, dislike it. Reading it, however, with a perfect contempt for it, one discovers in it, after all, a place for the genuine.

There is no pleasure subtler than the sensation of being a good workman; and in work there is the sense of consanguinity-unconscious as a rule but sometimes conscious.

Blessed the geniuses who know / that egomania is not a duty.

Impatience is the mark of independence, not of bondage.

All are / naked, none is safe.

Omissions are not accidents.

I am hard to disgust, but a pretentious poet can do it