Words alone are certain good.

I sat, a solitary man, In a crowded London shop, An open book and empty cup On the marble table-top. While on the shop and street I gazed My body of a sudden blazed; And twenty minutes more or less It seemed, so great my happiness, That I was blessed and could bless.

Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.

Talent perceives differences; genius, unity.

Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.

There is only one romance the Soul's.

My father was an angry and impatient teacher and flung the reading book at my head.