The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame!

What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident?

Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary, Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeler.

An intellectual hate is the worst.

Englishmen are babes in philosophy and so prefer faction-fighting to the labour of its unfamiliar thought.