The jealous keys of truth's eternal doors.

Music, when soft voices die Vibrates in the memory.

My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Those who inflict must suffer, for they see The work of their own hearts, and this must be Our chastisement or recompense.

The beauty of the internal nature cannot be so far concealed by its accidental vesture, but that the spirit of its form shall communicate itself to the very disguise and indicate the shape it hides from the manner in which it is worn. A majestic form and graceful motions will express themselves through the most barbarous and tasteless costume.

Power, like a desolating pestilence, Pollutes whate'er it touches; and obedience, Bane of all genius, virtue, freedom, truth, Makes slaves of men, and of the human frame A mechanized automaton.

Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration; the mirrors of the gigantic shadows which futurity casts upon the present.