A man's mind grows narrow in a narrow place.

When a poet mentions the spring, we know that the zephyrs are about to whisper, that the groves are to recover their verdure, the linnets to warble forth their notes of love, and the flocks and herds to frisk over vales painted with flowers: yet, who is there so insensible of the beauties of nature, so little delighted with the renovation of the world, as not to feel his heart bound at the mention of the spring?

I have always considered it as treason against the great republic of human nature, to make any man's virtues the means of deceiving him.

All the performances of human art, at which we look with praise or wonder, are instances of the resistless force of perseverance.

Words too familiar, or too remote, defeat the purpose of a poet.

Never mind the use--do it!

The vanity of being known to be trusted with a secret is generally one of the chief motives to disclose it.