The excellence of every Art is its intensity.

My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.

Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one!

Here lies one whose name was writ on water.

I wish to believe in immortality-I wish to live with you forever.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on.

Life is but a day: A fragile dewdrop on its perilious way From a tree's summit

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know

I want a brighter word than bright

I have good reason to be content, for thank God I can read and perhaps understand Shakespeare to his depths.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.

Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not

I was never afraid of failure; for I would sooner fail than not be among the greatest.

The only means of strengthening one's intellect is to make up one's mind about nothing -- to let the mind be a thoroughfare for all thoughts.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard, are sweeter

Do you not see how necessary a world of pains and troubles is to school an intelligence and make it a soul?

I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days - three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.

Give me books, French wine, fruit, fine weather and a little music played out of doors by somebody I do not know.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever.

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the Heart's affections and the truth of the Imagination.

Nothing ever becomes real 'til it is experienced.

Touch has a memory.

The poetry of the earth is never dead.

I am in that temper that if I were under water I would scarcely kick to come to the top.

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of Sense, Lie in three words, Health, Peace, and Competence. But Health consists with Temperance alone, And Peace, oh Virtue! Peace is all thy own.

Intrepid then, o'er seas and lands he flew: Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too.

Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charm'd the small-pox, or chased old age away; Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?

Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

A little learning is a dangerous thing; drink deep, taste not the Pierian Spring

All this dread order break- for whom? for thee? Vile worm!- oh madness! pride! impiety!

Trust not yourself; but your defects to know, Make use of ev'ry friend—and ev'ry foe.

Know thy own point: this kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.

Where beams of imagination play, The memory's soft figures melt away.

Inscriptions here of various Names I view'd, The greater part by hostile time subdu'd; Yet wide was spread their fame in ages past, And Poets once had promis'd they should last.

An excuse is worse and more terrible than a lie

Why charge we Heav'n in those, in these acquit? In both, to reason right is to submit.

How happy he, who free from care The rage of courts, and noise of towns; Contented breathes his native air, In his own grounds

Thy voice I seem in ev'ry hymn to hear, with ev'ry bead I drop too soft a tear...

How vain are all these Glories, all our Pains, Unless good Sense preserve what Beauty gains: That Men may say, when we the Front-box grace, Behold the first in Virtue, as in Face!

Sure flattery never traveled so far as three thousand miles; it is now only for truth, which over takes all things, to reach you at this distance.

We may see the small Value God has for Riches, by the People he gives them to." [Thoughts on Various Subjects, 1727]

Some judge of authors' names, not works, and then nor praise nor blame the writings, but the men.

The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, and wretches hang that jurymen may dine.

For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, His can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.

Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground.

Averse alike to flatter, or offend; Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

Philosophy, that leaned on Heaven before, Shrinks to her second cause, and is no more.

No place so scared from such frops is barred Nor is Paul's Church more safe than Paul's Churchyard Na fly to alter there they'll talk you dead For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.