Man who man would be, must rule the empire of himself.
Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.
Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.
...Ere midnight’s frown and morning’s smile, ere thou and peace may meet.
Is it not odd that the only generous person I ever knew, who had money to be generous with, should be a stockbroker.
This lake exceeds anything I ever beheld in beauty.