A sight to dream of, not to tell!

And life is thorny; and youth is vain

The frost performs its secret ministry, Unhelped by any wind.

I shot the ALBATROSS.

Then all the charm Is broken--all that phantom-world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each mis-shape the other.

What is there in thee, Man, that can be known? Dark fluxion, all unfixable by thought, A phantom dim of past and future wrought, Vain sister of the worm ...

Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing, Beloved from pole to pole! To Mary Queen the praise be given! She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, That slid into my soul.

Not one man in a thousand has the strength of mind or the goodness of heart to be an atheist.

Experience informs us that the first defense of weak minds is to recriminate.

A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

The one red leaf, the last of its clan, That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.

Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drank the milk of Paradise.

The selfmoment I could pray; And from my neck so free The Albatross fell off, and sank Like lead into the sea.

Men, I still think, ought to be weighed, not counted. Their worth ought to be the final estimate of their value.

He who begins by loving Christianity more than Truth, will proceed by loving his sect or church better than Christianity, and end in loving himself better than all.

Every reform, however necessary, will by weak minds be carried to an excess, that itself will need reforming.

About, about, in reel and rout The death-fires danced at night; The water, like a witch's oils, Burnt green, and blue, and white

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

As a man without forethought scarcely deserves the name of a man, so forethought without reflection is but a metaphorical phrase for the instinct of a beast. - (1772-1834)

And I had done a hellish thing, And it would work 'em woe: For all averred, I had killed the bird That made the breeze to blow. Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay, That made the breeze to blow!

And in Life's noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee, The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.

They groaned, they stirred, they all uprose, Nor spake, nor moved their eyes; It had been strange, even in a dream, To have seen those dead men rise.

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame; It is the reflex of our earthly frame, That takes its meaning from the nobler part, And but translates the language of the heart.

It is a dull and obtuse mind, that must divide in order to distinguish; but it is a still worse that distinguishes in order to divide.

Like cliffs which had been rent asunder; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder, Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been.

For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.

On Pilgrim's Progress: “I could not have believed beforehand that Calvinism could be painted in such exquisitely delightful colors.

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

Party men always hate a slightly differing friend more than a downright enemy.

The very deep did rot: O Christ! That ever this should be! Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

O lady! we receive but what we give And in our life alone does Nature live.

Until my ghastly tale is told, this heart within me burns.

The mariners all ‘gan work the ropes, where they were wont to do: They raised their limbs like lifeless tools - We were a ghastly crew.

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind, Reality's dark dream! I turn from you, and listen to the wind.

Water, water everywhere and not a drop to drink.

Why look'st thou so?'— With my cross-bow I shot the ALBATROSS.

Friends should be weighed, not told; who boasts to have won a multitude of friends has never had one.

When a man is unhappy he writes damned bad poetry, I find.

Her lips were red, her looks were free, Her locks were yellow as gold: Her skin was as white as leprosy, The Night-Mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she, Who thicks man's blood with cold.

People of humor are always in some degree people of genius.

Plagiarists are always suspicious of being stolen from

And what if all of animated nature Be but organic harps diversely framed, That tremble into thought, as o'er them sweeps Plastic and vast, one intellectual breeze, At once the Soul of each, and God of All?

By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

He prayeth well, who loveth well Both man and bird and beast.

There's no magic numbers in birthdays in my life, there are no milestones, there's no event. Every birthday has to be celebrated to its fullest, even if it's with one person or with 20.

I feel a huge responsibility to anyone who's younger than me, in helping them take the road less traveled, or finding no road at all and blazing a new trail.

We don't have to pretend to be something that we're not.

I've never had good fortune with sequels. Everyone says this time is going to be better. And then I've done them and they've just been not - they weren't better.

I do believe in choice, the freedom of choice and carving out your own happiness.

It's the rare happening when actors get together and you have chemistry, connection, just something that works, that's bigger than what's on the page.