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And Dreams In Their Development Have Breath, And Tears, And Tortures, And The Touch Of Joy; They Have A Weight Upon Our Waking Thoughts, They Take A Weight From Off Our Waking Toils, They Do Divide Our Being.

-Lord Byron

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And Dreams In Their

Lord Byron

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And Dreams In Their Development Have Breath, And Tears, And Tortures, And The Touch Of Joy; They Have A Weight Upon Our Waking Thoughts, They Take A Weight From Off Our Waking Toils, They Do Divide Our Being.

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Ye Stars! Which Are The Poetry Of Heaven!

For Pleasures Past I Do Not Grieve, Nor Perils Gathering Near; My Greatest Grief Is That I Leave Nothing That Claims A Tear.

Tis Said That Persons Living On Annuities Are Longer Lived Than Others.

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.

Books, Manuals, Directives, Regulations. The Geometries That Circumscribe Your Working Life Draw Norrower And Norrower Until Nothing Fits Inside Them Anymore.

But At Sixteen The Conscience Rarely Gnaws So Much, As When We Call Our Old Debts In At Sixty Years, And Draw The Accounts Of Evil, And Find A Deuced Balance With The Devil.

My Days Are In The Yellow Leaf; The Flowers And Fruits Of Love Are Gone; The Worm, The Canker, And The Grief, Are Mine Alone!

I Do Not Believe In Any Religion, I Will Have Nothing To Do With Immortality. We Are Miserable Enough In This Life Without Speculating Upon Another.

No Ear Can Hear Nor Tongue Can Tell The Tortures Of The Inward Hell!

There Was A Sound Of Revelry By Night, And Belgium's Capital Had Gathered Then Her Beauty And Her Chivalry, And Bright The Lamps Shone O'er Fair Women And Brave Men. A Thousand Hearts Beat Happily; And When Music Arose With Its Voluptuous Swell, Soft Eyes Looked Love To Eyes Which Spake Again, And All Went Merry As A Marriage Bell. But Hush! Hark! A Deep Sound Strikes Like A Rising Knell!

We Are All The Fools Of Time And Terror: Days Steal On Us And Steal From Us; Yet We Live, Loathing Our Life, And Dreading Still To Die.

Few Things Surpass Old Wine; And They May Preach Who Please, The More Because They Preach In Vain

A Thousand Years May Scare Form A State. An Hour May Lay It In Ruins.

In Itself A Thought, A Slumbering Thought Is Capable Of Years; And Curdles A Long Life Into One Hour.

Fare Thee Well, And If For Ever Still For Ever Fare Thee Well.

There Is No Instinct Like That Of The Heart.

If From Society We Learn To Live, Solitude Should Teach Us How To Die.

Know Ye The Land Where The Cypress And Myrtle Are Emblems Of Deeds That Are Done In Their Clime? Where The Rage Of The Vulture, The Love Of The Turtle, Now Melt Into Sorrow, Now Madden To Crime!

Liberty - Eternal Spirit Of The Chainless Mind

A Good Coach Encourages The Same Type Of Resilience In The People They Work With. They Encourage Them To Take Risks. If The Risk Results In Failure, They Help All People To Learn From The Mistake And Then Go On To Try Another Way.

Curiosity Kills Itself; And Love Is Only Curiosity, As Is Proved By Its End.

Truth Is A Gem That Is Found At A Great Depth; Whilst On The Surface Of The World All Things Are Weighed By The False Scale Of Custom.

Roll On, Thou Deep And Dark Blue Ocean

Retirement Accords With The Tone Of My Mind; I Will Not Descend To A World I Despise.

We Have Fools In All Sects, And Impostors In Most; Why Should I Believe Mysteries No One Can Understand, Because Written By Men Who Chose To Mistake Madness For Inspiration And Style Themselves Evangelicals?

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

When People Say, "i've Told You Fifty Times," They Mean To Scold, And Very Often Do; When Poets Say, "i've Written Fifty Rhymes," They Make You Dread That They'll Recite Them Too; In Gangs Of Fifty, Thieves Commit Their Crimes; At Fifty Love For Love Is Rare, 't Is True, But Then, No Doubt, It Equally As True Is, A Good Deal May Be Bought For Fifty Louis.

Adversity Is The First Path To Truth.

Where There Is Mystery, It Is Generally Suspected There Must Also Be Evil.

Mark! Where His Carnage And His Conquests Cease, He Makes A Solitude And Calls It-peace!

A Thirst For Gold, The Beggar's Vice, Which Can But Overwhelm The Meanest Hearts.

Tyranny Is For The Worst Of Treasons.

Be Thou The Rainbow In The Storms Of Life. The Evening Beam That Smiles The Clouds Away, And Tints Tomorrow With Prophetic Ray.

I Think The Worst Woman That Ever Existed Would Have Made A Man Of Very Passable Reputation -- They Are All Better Than Us And Their Faults Such As They Are Must Originate With Ourselves.

That Prose Is A Verse, And Verse Is A Prose; Convincing All, By Demonstrating Plain – Poetic Souls Delight In Prose Insane

Oh, For A Forty-parson Power To Chant Thy Praise, Hypocrisy! Oh, For A Hymn Loud As The Virtues Thou Dost Loudly Vaunt, Not Practise!

A Timid Mind Is Apt To Mistake Every Scratch For A Mortal Wound.

Happiness Was Born A Twin.

I Have A Great Mind To Believe In Christianity For The Mere Pleasure Of Fancying I May Be Damned.

For The Angel Of Death Spread His Wings On The Blast, And Breathed In The Face Of The Foe As He Passed; And The Eyes Of The Sleepers Waxed Deadly And Chill, And Their Hearts But Once Heaved, And For Ever Grew Still!

Oh! Too Convincing--dangerously Dear-- In Woman's Eye The Unanswerable Tear! That Weapon Of Her Weakness She Can Wield, To Save, Subdue--at Once Her Spear And Shield.

The Poetry Of Speech.

It Is Singular How Soon We Lose The Impression Of What Ceases To Be Constantly Before Us. A Year Impairs, A Luster Obliterates. There Is Little Distinct Left Without An Effort Of Memory, Then Indeed The Lights Are Rekindled For A Moment - But Who Can Be Sure That The Imagination Is Not The Torch-bearer?

I Should Like To Know Who Has Been Carried Off, Except Poor Dear Me - I Have Been More Ravished Myself Than Anybody Since The Trojan War.

Now I Shall Go To Sleep. Goodnight.

In The Desert A Fountain Is Springing, In The Wide Waste There Still Is A Tree, And A Bird In The Solitude Singing, Which Speaks To My Spirit Of Thee

But Stories Somehow Lengthen When Begun.

There Is No Such Thing As A Life Of Passion Any More Than A Continuous Earthquake, Or An Eternal Fever. Besides, Who Would Ever Shave Themselves In Such A State?

Oh That The Desert Were My Dwelling-place, With One Fair Spirit For My Minister

O Ye! Who Teach The Ingenious Youth Of Nations, Holland, France, England, Germany Or Spain, I Pray Ye Flog Them Upon All Occasions, It Mends Their Morals, Never Mind The Pain.

Who Then Will Explain The Explanation?

It Is True From Early Habit, One Must Make Love Mechanically As One Swims; I Was Once Very Fond Of Both, But Now As I Never Swim Unless I Tumble Into The Water, I Don't Make Love Till Almost Obliged.

Oh, Mirth And Innocence! Oh, Milk And Water! Ye Happy Mixture Of More Happy Days!

I Have Simplified My Politics Into An Utter Detestation Of All Existing Governments; And, As It Is The Shortest And Most Agreeable And Summary Feeling Imaginable, The First Moment Of An Universal Republic Would Convert Me Into An Advocate For Single And Uncontradicted Despotism. The Fact Is, Riches Are Power, And Poverty Is Slavery All Over The Earth, And One Sort Of Establishment Is No Better, Nor Worse, For A People Than Another.

Then Stirs The Feeling Infinite, So Felt In Solitude, Where We Are Least Alone.

I Suppose We Shall Soon Travel By Air-vessels; Make Air Instead Of Sea Voyages; And At Length Find Our Way To The Moon, In Spite Of The Want Of Atmosphere.

History, With All Her Volumes Vast, Hath But One Page.

I Can't But Say It Is An Awkward Sight To See One's Native Land Receding Through The Growing Waters; It Unmans One Quite, Especially When Life Is Rather New.

And What Is Writ Is Writ - / Would It Were Worthier!

I Am About To Be Married, And Am Of Course In All The Misery Of A Man In Pursuit Of Happiness.

What An Antithetical Mind! - Tenderness, Roughness - Delicacy, Coarseness - Sentiment, Sensuality - Soaring And Groveling, Dirt And Deity - All Mixed Up In That One Compound Of Inspired Clay!

When Falls The Coliseum, Rome Shall Fall; And When Rome Falls--the World.

Your Thief Looks Exactly Like The Rest, Or Rather Better; 'tis Only At The Bar, And In The Dungeon, That Wise Men Know Your Felon By His Features.

Oh! Might I Kiss Those Eyes Of Fire, A Million Scarce Would Quench Desire; Still Would I Steep My Lips In Bliss, And Dwell An Age On Every Kiss; Nor Then My Soul Should Sated Be, Still Would I Kiss And Cling To Thee: Nought Should My Kiss From Thine Dissever, Still Would We Kiss And Kiss For Ever; E'en Though The Numbers Did Exceed The Yellow Harvest's Countless Seed; To Part Would Be A Vain Endeavour: Could I Desist? -ah! Never-never.

I Slept And Dreamt That Life Was Beauty; I Woke And Found That Life Was Duty.

I Doubt Sometimes Whether A Quiet And Unagitated Life Would Have Suited Me - Yet I Sometimes Long For It.

Let Us Have Wine And Woman, Mirth And Laughter, Sermons And Soda Water The Day After. Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication: Glory, The Grape, Love, Gold, In These Are Sunk The Hopes Of All Men, And Of Every Nation; Without Their Sap, How Branchless Were The Trunk Of Life's Strange Tree, So Fruitful On Occasion: But To Return--get Very Drunk; And When You Wake With Head-ache, You Shall See What Then.

Christians Have Burnt Each Other, Quite Persuaded. That All The Apostles Would Have Done As They Did.

My Hair Is Grey, But Not With Years, Nor Grew It White In A Single Night, As Men's Have Grown From Sudden Fears.

That Music In Itself, Whose Sounds Are Song, The Poetry Of Speech.

There Is Something To Me Very Softening In The Presence Of A Woman, Some Strange Influence, Even If One Is Not In Love With Them, Which I Cannot At All Account For, Having No Very High Opinion Of The Sex. But Yet, I Always Feel In Better Humor With Myself And Every Thing Else, If There Is A Woman Within Ken.

I Am So Convinced Of The Advantages Of Looking At Mankind Instead Of Reading About Them, . . . That I Think There Should Be A Law Amongst Us To Set Our Young Men Abroad For A Term Among The Few Allies Our Wars Have Left Us.

[armenian] Is A Rich Language, However, And Would Amply Repay Any One The Trouble Of Learning It.

All Tragedies Are Finished By A Death, All Comedies Are Ended By A Marriage.

War, War Is Still The Cry,-"war Even To The Knife!"

It Is Useless To Tell One Not To Reason But To Believe; You Might As Well Tell A Man Not To Wake But Sleep.

It Is Very Iniquitous To Make Me Pay My Debts - You Have No Idea Of The Pain It Gives One.

As Long As I Retain My Feeling And My Passion For Nature, I Can Partly Soften Or Subdue My Other Passions And Resist Or Endure Those Of Others.

Many Are Poets, But Without The Name;for What Is Poesy But To Createfrom Overfeeling Good Or Ill; And Aimat An External Life Beyond Our Fate,and Be The New Prometheus Of New Men,bestowing Fire From Heaven, And Then, Too Late,finding The Pleasure Given Repaid With Pain

And I Would Hear Yet Once Before I Perish The Voice Which Was My Music... Speak To Me!

In Solitude, When We Are Least Alone.

And Wrinkles, The Damned Democrats, Won't Flatter.

Eat, Drink And Love...the Rest Is Not Worth A Nickel

There Is, In Fact, No Law Or Government At All; And It Is Wonderful How Well Things Go On Without Them.

Oh, Christ! It Is A Goodly Sight To See What Heaven Hath Done For This Delicious Land!

Men Think Highly Of Those Who Rise Rapidly In The World; Whereas Nothing Rises Quicker Than Dust, Straw, And Feathers.

Let No Man Grumble When His Friends Fall Off, As They Will Do Like Leaves At The First Breeze; When Your Affairs Come Round, One Way Or T'other, Go To The Coffee House, And Take Another.

Friendship May, And Often Does, Grow Into Love, But Love Never Subsides Into Friendship.

Ada! Sole Daughter Of My House And Heart.

I Had A Dream, Which Was Not At All A Dream.

Yet Truth Will Sometimes Lend Her Noblest Fires, And Decorate The Verse Herself Inspires: This Fact, In Virtue's Name, Let Crabbe Attest,- Though Nature's Sternest Painter, Yet The Best.

Next To Dressing For A Rout Or Ball, Undressing Is A Woe.

There's Not A Sea The Passenger E'er Pukes In, Turns Up More Dangerous Breakers Than The Euxine.

The Sky Is Changed,-and Such A Change! O Night And Storm And Darkness! Ye Are Wondrous Strong, Yet Lovely In Your Strength, As Is The Light Of A Dark Eye In Woman! Far Along, From Peak To Peak, The Rattling Crags Among, Leaps The Live Thunder.

If A Man Proves Too Clearly And Convincingly To Himself...that A Tiger Is An Optical Illusion--well, He Will Find Out He Is Wrong. The Tiger Will Himself Intervene In The Discussion, In A Manner Which Will Be In Every Sense Conclusive.

Optical Illusions

So Much Alarmed That She Is Quite Alarming

Sorrow Is Knowledge, Those That Know The Most Must Mourn The Deepest, The Tree Of Knowledge Is Not The Tree Of Life.

It Is By Far The Most Elegant Worship, Hardly Excepting The Greek Mythology. What With Incense, Pictures, Statues, Altars, Shrines, Relics, And The Real Presence, Confession, Absolution, - There Is Something Sensible To Grasp At. Besides, It Leaves No Possibility Of Doubt; For Those Who Swallow Their Deity, Really And Truly, In Transubstantiation, Can Hardly Find Any Thing Else Otherwise Than Easy Of Digestion.

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

A Man Must Serve His Time To Every Trade, Save Censure-critics All Are Ready Made. Take Hackney'd Jokes From Miller, Got By Rote With Just Enough Learning To Misquote.

But I Had Not Quite Fixed Whether To Make Him [don Juan] End In Hell-or In An Unhappy Marriage,-not Knowing Which Would Be The Severest.

And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles Near The Brim.

There Is No Passion, More Spectral Or Fantastical Than Hate, Not Even Its Opposite, Love, So Peoples Air, With Phantoms, As This Madness Of The Heart.

Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

Love Rules The Camp, The Court, The Grove - For Love Is Heaven, And Heaven Is Love.

Near This Spot Are Deposited The Remains Of One Who Possessed Beauty Without Vanity, Strength Without Insolence, Courage Without Ferocity, And All The Virtues Of Man, Without His Vices. This Praise, Which Would Be Unmeaning Flattery If Inscribed Over Human Ashes, Is But A Just Tribute To The Memory Of Botswain, A Dog.

Reason Is So Unreasonable, That Few People Can Say They Are In Possession Of It.

I Hate All Pain, Given Or Received; We Have Enough Within Us The Meanest Vassal As The Loftiest Monarch, Not To Add To Each Other's Natural Burden Of Mortal Misery.

The Niobe Of Nations! There She Stands.

The Mind Can Make Substance, And People Planets Of Its Own With Beings Brighter Than Have Been, And Give A Breath To Forms Which Can Outlive All Flesh.

A Sleep Without Dreams, After A Rough Day Of Toil, Is What We Covet Most; And Yet How Clay Shrinks Back From More Quiescent Clay! The Very Suicide That Pays His Debt At Once Without Installments (an Old Way Of Paying Debts, Which Creditors Regret) Lets Out Impatiently His Rushing Breath, Less From Disgust Of Life Than Dread Of Death.

Egypt! From Whose All Dateless Tombs Arose Forgotten Pharaohs From Their Long Repose, And Shook Within Their Pyramids To Hear A New Cambyses Thundering In Their Ear; While The Dark Shades Of Forty Ages Stood Like Startled Giants By Nile's Famous Flood.

I Am Never Long, Even In The Society Of Her I Love, Without Yearning For The Company Of My Lamp And My Library.

All Who Joy Would Win Must Share It. Happiness Was Born A Twin.

The Basis Of Your Religion Is Injustice. The Son Of God The Pure, The Immaculate, The Innocent, Is Sacrificed For The Guilty. This Proves His Heroism, But No More Does Away With Man's Sin Than A School Boy's Volunteering To Be Flogged For Another Would Exculpate A Dunce From Negligence.

Physicians Mend Or End Us, Secundum Artem; But Although We Sneer - In Health - When Ill We Call Them To Attend Us, Without The Least Propensity To Jeer

Mont Blanc Is The Monarch Of Mountains; They Crown'd Him Long Ago On A Throne Of Rocks, In A Robe Of Clouds, With A Diadem Of Snow.

Eternity Forbids Thee To Forget.

No More We Meet In Yonder Bowers Absence Has Made Me Prone To Roving; But Older, Firmer Hearts Than Ours, Have Found Monotony In Loving.

But What Is Hope? Nothing But The Paint On The Face Of Existence; The Least Touch Of Truth Rubs It Off, And Then We See What A Hollow-cheeked Harlot We Have Got Hold Of.

What Deep Wounds Ever Closed Without A Scar? The Hearts Bleed Longest, And Heals But To Wear That Which Disfigures It.

Wounds And Scars

Always Laugh When You Can; It Is Cheap Medicine. Merriment Is A Philosophy Not Well Understood. It Is The Sunny Side Of Existence.

Such Partings Break The Heart They Fondly Hope To Heal.

You Have To Have A Passion For Your Work. How Can We Expect People To Be Passionate If You, As Their Coach, Does Not Have A Passion? Coaching Has To Be Something That Gives You Passion And Energy.

That Low Vice, Curiosity!

Lord Of Himself; That Heritage Of Woe!

But 'midst The Crowd, The Hum, The Shock Of Men, To Hear, To See, To Feel, And To Possess, And Roam Along, The World's Tired Denizen, With None Who Bless Us, None Whom We Can Bless.

Let None Think To Fly The Danger For Soon Or Late Love Is His Own Avenger.

The Cardinal Is At His Wit's End - It Is True That He Had Not Far To Go.

'twas Strange That One So Young Should Thus Concern His Brain About The Action Of The Sky; If You Think 'twas Philosophy That This Did, I Can't Help Thinking Puberty Assisted.

He Makes A Solitude, And Calls It - Peace!

Society Is Now One Polished Horde, Formed Of Two Mighty Tries, The Bores And Bored.

What Is Death, So It Be But Glorious? 'tis A Sunset; And Mortals May Be Happy To Resemble The Gods But In Decay.

Then Rose From Sea To Sky The Wild Farewell Then Shriek'd The Timid, And Stood Still The Brave, Then Some Leap'd Overboard With Fearful Yell, As Eager To Anticipate Their Grave.

Let Not His Mode Of Raising Cash Seem Strange, Although He Fleeced The Flags Of Every Nation, For Into A Prime Minister But Change His Title, And 'tis Nothing But Taxation.

I Have Had, And May Have Still, A Thousand Friends, As They Are Called, In Life, Who Are Like One's Partners In The Waltz Of This World -not Much Remembered When The Ball Is Over.

And Hold Up To The Sun My Little Taper.

I Have Not Loved The World, Nor The World Me; I Have Not Flattered Its Rank Breath, Nor Bowed To Its Idolatries A Patient Knee, Nor Coined My Cheek To Smiles,-nor Cried Aloud In Worship Of An Echo.

Nothing So Difficult As A Beginning In Poesy, Unless Perhaps The End.

My Slumbers--if I Slumber--are Not Sleep, But A Continuance Of Enduring Thought, Which Then I Can Resist Not: In My Heart There Is A Vigil, And These Eyes But Close To Look Within; And Yet I Live, And Bear The Aspect And The Form Of Breathing Men.

But Quiet To Quick Bosoms Is A Hell.

Farewell! If Ever Fondest Prayer For Other's Weal Avail'd On High, Mine Will Not All Be Lost In Air, But Waft Thy Name Beyond The Sky.

Yet Still There Whispers The Small Voice Within, Heard Through Gain's Silence, And O'er Glory's Din; Whatever Creed Be Taught Or Land Be Trod, Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

Romances Paint At Full Length People's Wooing. But Only Give A Bust Of Marriages.

...and These Vicissitudes Come Best In Youth; For When They Happen At A Riper Age, People Are Apt To Blame The Fates, Forsooth, And Wonder Providence Is Not More Sage. Adversity Is The First Path To Truth: He Who Hath Proved War, Storm, Or Woman's Rage, Whether His Winters Be Eighteen Or Eighty, Has Won Experience Which Is Deem'd So Weighty.

Here's A Sigh To Those Who Love Me,and A Smile To Those Who Hate;and, Whatever Sky's Above Me,here's A Heart For Every Fate.

The Great Art Of Life Is Sensation, To Feel That We Exist, Even In Pain.

Though I Love My Country, I Do Not Love My Countrymen.

I Live Not In Myself, But I Become Portion Of That Around Me: And To Me High Mountains Are A Feeling, But The Hum Of Human Cities Torture.

The Art Of Angling, The Cruelest, The Coldest And The Stupidest Of Pretended Sports.

In England The Only Homage Which They Pay To Virtue - Is Hypocrisy.

Earth! Render Back From Out Thy Breast A Remnant Of Our Spartan Dead! Of The Three Hundred Grant But Three, To Make A New Thermopylæ!

History - The Devil's Scripture

I Am So Changeable, Being Everything By Turns And Nothing Long - Such A Strange Melange Of Good And Evil.

There Is No Traitor Like Him Whose Domestic Treason Plants The Poniard Within The Breast That Trusted To His Truth

To Withdraw Myself From Myself Has Ever Been My Sole, My Entire, My Sincere Motive In Scribbling At All.

Accursed Be The City Where The Laws Would Stifle Nature's!

There Is A Tear For All Who Die, A Mourner O'er The Humblest Grave.

If I Could Always Read, I Should Never Feel The Want Of Company.

I've Seen Your Stormy Seas And Stormy Women, And Pity Lovers Rather More Than Seamen.

I Really Cannot Know Whether I Am Or Am Not The Genius You Are Pleased To Call Me, But I Am Very Willing To Put Up With The Mistake, If It Be One. It Is A Title Dearly Enough Bought By Most Men, To Render It Endurable, Even When Not Quite Clearly Made Out, Which It Never Can Be Till The Posterity, Whose Decisions Are Merely Dreams To Ourselves, Has Sanctioned Or Denied It, While It Can Touch Us No Further.

I Have No Consistency, Except In Politics; And That Probably Arises From My Indifference To The Subject Altogether.

Man Is A Carnivorous Production, And Must Have Meals, At Least One Meal A Day; He Cannot Live, Like Woodcocks, Upon Suction, But, Like The Shark And Tiger, Must Have Prey; Although His Anatomical Construction Bears Vegetables, In A Grumbling Way, Your Laboring People Think Beyond All Question, Beef, Veal, And Mutton Better For Digestion.

My Great Comfort Is, That The Temporary Celebrity I Have Wrung From The World Has Been In The Very Teeth Of All Opinions And Prejudices. I Have Flattered No Ruling Powers; I Have Never Concealed A Single Thought That Tempted Me.

If We Must Have A Tyrant, Let Him At Least Be A Gentleman Who Has Been Bred To The Business, And Let Us Fall By The Axe And Not By The Butcher's Cleaver.

Not To Admire, Is All The Art I Know To Make Men Happy, Or To Keep Them So. Thus Horace Wrote We All Know Long Ago; And Thus Pope Quotes The Precept To Re-teach From His Translation; But Had None Admired, Would Pope Have Sung, Or Horace Been Inspired?

I Depart, Whither I Know Not; But The Hour's Gone By When Albion's Lessening Shores Could Grieve Or Glad Mine Eye.

In Commitment, We Dash The Hopes Of A Thousand Potential Selves.

Hatred Is The Madness Of The Heart.

Though The Day Of My Destiny 's Over, And The Star Of My Fate Hath Declined, Thy Soft Heart Refused To Discover The Faults Which So Many Could Find.

Never To Talk To Ones Self Is A Form Of Hypocrisy

The Law Of Heaven And Earth Is Life For Life.

Heaven And Earth

The Best Prophet Of The Future Is The Past.

My Heart In Passion, And My Head On Rhymes.

O Gold! I Still Prefer Thee Unto Paper, Which Makes Bank Credit Like A Bark Of Vapour.

Hearts Will Break - Yet Brokenly, Live On.

As Winds Come Whispering Lightly From The West, Kissing, Not Ruffling, The Blue Deep's Serene.

I Know That Two And Two Make Four - And Should Be Glad To Prove It Too If I Could - Though I Must Say If By Any Sort Of Process I Could Convert 2 And 2 Into Five It Would Give Me Much Greater Pleasure.

'tis Pleasant, Sure, To See One's Name In Print. A Book's A Book, Although There's Nothing In 't.

Opinions Are Made To Be Changed Or How Is Truth To Be Got At?

O Thou Beautiful And Unimaginable Ether! And Ye Multiplying Masses Of Increased And Still Increasing Lights! What Are Ye? What Is This Blue Wilderness Of Interminable Air, Where Ye Roll Along, As I Have Seen The Leaves Along The Limpid Streams Of Eden? Is Your Course Measur'd For Ye? Or Do Ye Sweep On In Your Unbounded Revelry Through An Aerial Universe Of Endless Expansion,--at Which My Soul Aches To Think,-- Intoxicated With Eternity.

Yet He Was Jealous, Though He Did Not Show It, For Jealousy Dislikes The World To Know It.

Champagne With Its Foaming Whirls/as White As Cleopatra's Pearls.

Talent May Be In Time Forgiven, But Genius Never

I Should, Many A Good Day, Have Blown My Brains Out, But For The Recollection That It Would Have Given Pleasure To My Mother-in-law.

Heaven Gives Its Favourites-early Death.

A Rose With All Its Sweetest Leaves Yet Folded.

When Age Chills The Blood, When Our Pleasures Are Past - For Years Fleet Away With The Wings Of The Dove - The Dearest Remembrance Will Still Be The Last, Our Sweetest Memorial The First Kiss Of Love.

Man Is In Part Divine, A Troubled Stream From A Pure Source.

In Secret We Met - In Silence I Grieve, That Thy Heart Could Forget, Thy Spirit Deceive. If I Should Meet Thee After Long Years, How Should I Greet Thee? - With Silence And Tears

And Those Who Saw, It Did Surprise, Such Drops Could Fall From Human Eyes.

She Walks In Beauty, Like The Night Of Cloudless Climes And Starry Skies; And All That's Best Of Dark And Bright Meet In Her Aspect And Her Eyes.

A Mighty Mass Of Brick, And Smoke, And Shipping, Dirty And Dusty, But As Wide As Eye Could Reach, With Here And There A Sail Just Skipping In Sight, Then Lost Amidst The Forestry Of Masts; A Wilderness Of Steeples Peeping On Tiptoe Through Their Sea-coal Canopy; A Huge, Dun Cupola, Like A Fools-cap Crown On A Fool's Head - And There Is London Town.

Oh! Snatched Away In Beauty's Bloom, On Thee Shall Press No Ponderous Tomb; But On Thy Turf Shall Roses Rear Their Leaves, The Earliest Of The Year.

I Cannot Describe To You The Despairing Sensation Of Trying To Do Something For A Man Who Seems Incapable Or Unwilling To Do Anything Further For Himself.

He Who Is Only Just Is Cruel; Who Upon The Earth Would Live Were All Judged Justly?

This Is To Be Along; This, This Is Solitude!

Tis The Perception Of The Beautiful, A Fine Extension Of The Faculties, Platonic, Universal, Wonderful, Drawn From The Stars, And Filtered Through The Skies, Without Which Life Would Be Extremely Dull

Love Will Find A Way Through Paths Where Wolves Fear To Prey.

Happy Valentines Day

Armenian Is The Language To Speak With God.

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