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

As long as skies are blue, and fields are green Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow

Death is the veil which those who live call life; They sleep, and it is lifted.

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

My neighbour, or my servant, or my child, has done me an injury, and it is just that he should suffer an injury in return. Such is the doctrine which Jesus Christ summoned his whole resources of persuasion to oppose.

Chameleons feed on light and air: Poets food is love and fame.

The great instrument of moral good is the imagination.