But how can he expect that others should Build for him, sow for him, and at his call Love him, who for himself will take no heed at all?

His love was like the liberal air, embracing all, to cheer and bless.

We murder to dissect.

But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?

Delivered from the galling yoke of time.

Every great and original writer, in proportion as he is great and original, must himself create the taste by which he is to be relished.

As high as we have mounted in delight, In our dejection do we sink as low.