Poetry gives most pleasure when only generally and not perfectly understood.

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

Imagination that compares and contrasts with what is around as well as what is better and worse is the living power and prime agent of all human perception judgement and emotional reaction.

Why is it that so many of us persist in thinking that autumn is a sad season? Nature has merely fallen asleep, and her dreams must be beautiful if we are to judge by her countenance.

Humor is consistent with pathos, whilst wit is not.

As long as there are readers to be delighted with calumny, there will be found reviewers to calumniate.

Alone, Alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never saint took pity on My soul in agony