Dreams, books, are each a world.
Worse than idle is compassion if it ends in tears and sighs.
We live by admiration, hope and love.
The budding rose above the rose full blown.
Laying out grounds may be considered a liberal art, in some sort like poetry and painting.
The Poet, gentle creature as he is, Hath, like the Lover, his unruly times; His fits when he is neither sick nor well, Though no distress be near him but his own Unmanageable thoughts.