The rudiment of verse may, possibly, be found in the spondee.
That pleasure which is at once the most pure, the most elevating and the most intense, is derived, I maintain, from the contemplation of the beautiful.
The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.
Stupidity is a talent for misconception.
Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.
The generous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire, And taught the world with reason to admire.
The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
That man is not truly brave who is afraid either to seem or to be, when it suits him, a coward.