It is found easier, by the short-sighted victims of disease, to palliate their torments by medicine, than to prevent them by regimen

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

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

The cloud of mind is discharging its collected lightning.

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?

Fate,Time,Occasion,Chance, and Change? To these All things are subject but eternal love.

A story of particular facts is a mirror which obscures and distorts that which should be beautiful; poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which it distorts.