We taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.

Where there is nothing, there is God.

O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.

All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it

Locke sank into a swoon; The Garden died; God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.

We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but half create.