There is no Frigate like a book to take us lands away nor any coursers like a page of prancing Poetry.
If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can ever warm me, I know that is poetry.
I’m nobody, who are you?
Love is anterior to life, posterior to death, initial of creation, and the exponent of breath.
I dwell in possibility.
I have a brother and sister; my mother does not care for thought, and father, too busy with his briefs to notice what we do. He buys me many books, but begs me not to read them, because he fears they joggle the mind.
I do not like the man who squanders life for fame; give me the man who living makes a name.
If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry.
Unable are the loved to die, for love is immortality.
I had no portrait, now, but am small, like the wren; and my hair is bold, like the chestnut bur; and my eyes, like the sherry in the glass, that the guest leaves.