The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Execution is the chariot of genius.

Rome & Greece swept Art into their maw & destroy'd it; a Warlike State never can produce Art. It will Rob & Plunder & accumulate into one place, & Translate & Copy & Buy & Sell & Criticize, but not Make.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after death of the vegetative body.

Shame is pride's cloak.

When nations grow old the Arts grow cold And commerce settles on every tree