Conscience is the pulse of reason

It is a flat'ning Thought, that the more we have seen, the less we have to say.

The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

The words in prose ought to express the intended meaning, and no more; if they attract attention to themselves, it is, in general, a fault.

A stately pleasure-dome decree.

Men, I still think, ought to be weighed not counted.

The annals of the French Revolution prove that the knowledge of the few cannot counteract the ignorance of the many.... The light of philosophy, when it is confined to a small minority, points out the possessors as the victims rather than the illuminators of the multitude.