Poetry is a sword of lightning, ever unsheathed, which consumes the scabbard that would contain it.

Yes, marriage is hateful, detestable. A kind of ineffable, sickening disgust seizes my mind when I think of this most despotic, most unrequited fetter which prejudice has forged to confine its energies.

Death will come when thou art dead, soon, too soon.

We are all Greeks. Our laws, our literature, our religion, our arts, have their root in Greece.

When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindu, his best friends hear no more of him.

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.

Poet's food is love and fame.