A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.

To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light,The night is good; because, my love,They never say good-night.

What! alive, and so bold, O earth?

The sunlight claps the earth, and the moonbeams kiss the sea: what are all these kissings worth, if thou kiss not me?

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

In a drama of the highest order there is little food for censure or hatred; it teaches rather self-knowledge and self-respect.

To be omnipotent but friendless is to reign.