Poets, not otherwise than philosophers, painters, sculptors, and musicians, are, in one sense, the creators, and, in another, the creations, of their age.

Only nature knows how to justly proportion to the fault the punishment it deserves.

The soul's joy lies in doing.

Drive my dead thoughts over the universe Like withered leaves to quicken a new birth! And, by the incantation of this verse, Scatter, as from an unextinguished hearth Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind! Be through my lips to unawakened earth The trumpet of a prophecy! O, wind, If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

True love in this differs from gold and clay, that to divide is not to take away. Love is like understanding, that grows bright, gazing on many truths.

I am convinced that there can be no regeneration of mankind until laughter is put down.

What is Love? It is that powerful attraction towards all that we conceive, or fear, or hope beyond ourselves.