Remorse Weeps Tears Of Blood.

Cant Is The Parrot Talk Of A Profession.

Men Of Genius Are Rarely Much Annoyed By The Company Of Vulgar People, Because They Have A Power Of Looking At Such Persons As Objects Of Amusement Of Another Race Altogether.

A Poet Ought Not To Pick Nature's Pocket. Let Him Borrow, And So Borrow As To Repay By The Very Act Of Borrowing. Examine Nature Accurately, But Write From Recollection, And Trust More To The Imagination Than The Memory.

An Undevout Poet Is An Impossibility.

Either We Have An Immortal Soul, Or We Have Not. If We Have Not, We Are Beasts,--the First And The Wisest Of Beasts, It May Be, But Still True Beasts. We Shall Only Differ In Degree And Not In Kind,--just As The Elephant Differs From The Slug. But By The Concession Of The Materialists Of All The Schools, Or Almost All, We Are Not Of The Same Kind As Beasts, And This Also We Say From Our Own Consciousness. Therefore, Methinks, It Must Be The Possession Of The Soul Within Us That Makes The Difference.