I Shall Not Be Satisfied Unless I

Temple Was A Man Of The World Amongst Men Of Letters, A Man Of Letters Amongst Men Of The World.

Perhaps No Person Can Be A Poet, Or Can Even Enjoy Poetry, Without A Certain Unsoundness Of Mind.

I Wish I Was As Sure Of Anything As He Is Of Everything.

The Merit Of Poetry, In Its Wildest Forms, Still Consists In Its Truth-truth Conveyed To The Understanding, Not Directly By The Words, But Circuitously By Means Of Imaginative Associations, Which Serve As Its Conductors.

Men Of Great Conversational Powers Almost Universally Practise A Sort Of Lively Sophistry And Exaggeration Which Deceives For The Moment Both Themselves And Their Auditors.