Language Is The Machine Of The Poet.

A Grecian History, Perfectly Written Should Be A Complete Record Of The Rise And Progress Of Poetry, Philosophy, And The Arts.

In That Temple Of Silence And Reconciliation Where The Enmities Of Twenty Generations Lie Buried, In The Great Abbey Which Has During Many Ages Afforded A Quiet Resting-place To Those Whose Minds And Bodies Have Been Shattered By The Contentions Of The Great Hall.

Shakespeare Has Had Neither Equal Nor Second.

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.

The Measure Of A Man's Real Character Is What He Would Do If He Knew He Would Never Be Found Out.