I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity.

I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.

Familiar acts are beautiful through love.

... Virtue owns a more eternal foe Than Force or Fraud: old Custom, legal Crime, And bloody Faith the foulest birth of Time.

Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange

Poet's food is love and fame.

Strange thoughts beget strange deeds.