You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.
Beauty is truth, truth beauty, - that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know
What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth.
The poetry of the earth is never dead.
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' that is allYe know on Earth, and all ye need to know.
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.
I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shuddered at it. I shudder no more - I could be martyred for my religion - Love is my religion - I could die for that.
There is nothing stable in the world; uproar's your only music.
I will give you a definition of a proud man: he is a man who has neither vanity nor wisdom --one filled with hatreds cannot be vain, neither can he be wise.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity, it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
Stop and consider! life is but a day; A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep Of Montmorenci
I begin to get a little acquainted with my own strength and weakness. Praise or blame has but a momentary effect on the man whose love of beauty in the abstract makes him a severe critic on his own works.
In spite of all, Some shape of beauty moves away the pall From our dark spirits.
I wish I was either in your arms full of faith, or that a Thunder bolt would strike me.
Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not
For to bear all naked truths, And to envisage circumstance, all calm, That is the top of sovereignty.
Life is but a day:A fragile dewdrop on its perilious wayFrom a tree's summit
'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Nor do we merely feel these essences for one short hour no, even as these trees that whisper round a temple become soon dear as the temples self, so does the moon, the passion posey, glories infinite, Haunt us till they become a cheering light unto our souls and bound to us so fast, that wheather there be shine, or gloom o'er cast, They always must be with us, or we die.
A thing of beauty is a joy forever.
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