The eye— it cannot choose but see; we cannot bid the ear be still; our bodies feel, where'er they be, against or with our will.

Not without hope we suffer and we mourn.

Pictures deface walls more often than they decorate them.

poetry is the breath and finer spirit of knowledge

Prompt to move but firm to wait - knowing things rashly sought are rarely found.

When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.

Earth has not anything to show more fair.