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“A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
its loveliness increases;
it will never pass into nothingness.” (John Keats)

- Endymion (1818) Bk. I, l. 1
“From an epic poem by Keats, it continues, “but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”

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You speak of Lord Byron and me; there is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees I describe what I imagine. Mine is the hardest task.

You are always new, The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.

With a great poet the sense of Beauty overcomes every other consideration, or rather obliterates all consideration.

What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth.

Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.

There is nothing stable in the world; uproar’s your only music.

There is not a fiercer hell than the failure in a great object.

There is an electric fire in human nature tending to purify – so that among these human creatures there is continually some birth of new heroism. The pity is that we must wonder at it, as we should at finding a pearl in rubbish.

The Public – a thing I cannot help looking upon as an enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of hostility.