Contempt Is Egotism In Ill- Humor.

To Sentence A Man Of True Genius, To The Drudgery Of A School Is To Put A Racehorse On A Treadmill.

The Secondary Imagination I Consider As An Echo Of The Former, Co-existing With The Conscious Will, Yet Still As Identical With The Primary In The Kind Of Its Agency, And Differing Only In Degree, And In The Mode Of Its Operation. It Dissolves, Diffuses, Dissipates, In Order To Recreate: Or Where This Process Is Rendered Impossible, Yet Still At All Events It Struggles To Idealize And To Unify. It Is Essentially Vital, Even As All Objects (as Objects) Are Essentially Fixed And Dead.

No Man Was Ever Yet A Great Poet, Without Being At The Same Time A Profound Philosopher. For Poetry Is The Blossom And The Fragrance Of All Human Knowledge, Human Thoughts, Human Passions, Emotions, Language.

The Beautiful Arises From The Perceived Harmony Of An Object, Whether Sight Or Sound, With The Inborn And Constitutive Rules Of The Judgment And Imagination: And It Is Always Intuitive.

In Philosophy Equally As In Poetry It Is The Highest And Most Useful Prerogative Of Genius To Produce The Strongest Impressions Of Novelty, While It Rescues Admitted Truths From The Neglect Caused By The Very Circumstance Of Their Universal Admission.