Science does not know its debt to imagination.

The moment we indulge our affections, the earth is metamorphosed, there is no winter and no night; all tragedies, all ennui s, vanish, all duties even.

We are symbols, and inhabit symbols.

But I shall hear without pain, that I play the courtier very ill, and talk of that which I do not well understand.

So each man, like each plant, has his parasites. A strong, astringent, bilious nature has more truculent enemies than the slugs and moths that fret my leaves. Such a one has curculios, borers, knife-worms; a swindler ate him first, then a client, then a quack, then smooth, plausible gentlemen, bitter and selfish as Moloch.

The poet knows that he speaks adequately, then, only when he speaks somewhat wildly.

The profoundest thought or passion sleeps as in a mine, until an equal mind and heart finds and publishes it.