But it is impossible that the creative power should exclude itself. Into every intelligence there is a door which is never closed,through which the creator passes.

Deep insight will always, like Nature, ultimate its thought in a thing.

A dilettantism in nature is barren and unworthy. A fop of fields is no better than his brother on Broadway.

There are other measures of self-respect for a man, than the number of clean shirts he puts on every day.

For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument that makes a poem.

That which we do not believe, we cannot adequately say; even though we may repeat the words ever so often.

The hero is not fed on sweets, Daily his own heart he eats; Chambers of the great are jails, And head-winds right for royal sails.