To observe attentively is to remember distinctly.
They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
I have no faith in human perfectibility. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active – not more happy – nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.
Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger, portion of truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.
Beauty is the sole legitimate province of the poem.
Yet mad I am not…and very surely do I not dream.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
With me poetry has not been a purpose, but a passion.
We loved with a love that was more than love.
There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.