The person whose doors I enter with most pleasure, and quit with most regret, never did me the smallest favour.

The most fluent talkers or most plausible reasoners are not always the justest thinkers.

The poetical impression of any object is that uneasy, exquisite sense of beauty or power that cannot be contained within itself; that is impatient of all limit; that (as flame bends to flame) strives to link itself to some other image of kindred beauty.

The least pain in our little finger gives us more concern and uneasiness than the destruction of millions of our fellow-beings.

The player envies only the player, the poet envies only the poet.