"I always wish, in reading my favourite poets, to know what first suggested my favourite poems. Few things would be more interesting than to know under what circumstances they were composed, — how much of individual sentiment there was in each, or how, on some incident seemingly even opposed, they had contrived to ingraft their own associations. What a history of the heart would such annals reveal ! Every poem is in itself an impulse."

"Did we not know this world to be but a place of trial — our bitter probation for another and for a better — how strange in its severity would seem the lot of genius in a woman. The keen feeling — the generous enthusiasm — the lofty aspiration — and the delicate perception — are given but to make the possessor unfitted for her actual position."

"In this consists the difference between painting and poetry : the painter reproduces others, — the poet reproduces himself."

"Ridicule parts social life like an invisible paling ; and we are all of us afraid of the other. To this may be in great measure attributed the difference that exists between an author's writings and his conversation. The one is often sad and thoughtful, while the other is lively and careless. The fact is, that the real character is shown in the first instance, and the assumed in the second."

"In childhood, the impetus of conversation is curiosity. The child talks to ask questions. But one of its first lessons, as it advances, is that a question is an intrusion, and an answer a deceit."

"There is a well of melancholy poetry in every human bosom. We have all mourned over the destroyed illusion and the betrayed hope. We have quarrelled in some embittered moment with an early friend, and when too late lamented the estrangement."

"Praise — actual personal praise— oftener frets and embarrasses than it encourages. It is too small when too near."

"There cannot be a greater error than to suppose that the poet does not feel what he writes. What an extraordinary, I might say, impossible view, is this to take of an art more connected with emotion than any of its sister sciences. What — the depths of the heart are to be sounded, its mysteries unveiled, and its beatings numbered by those whose own heart is made by this strange doctrine — a mere machine wound up by the clock-work of rhythm ! No ; poetry is even more a passion than a power, and nothing is so strongly impressed on composition as the character of the writer. I should almost define poetry to be the necessity of feeling strongly in the first instance, and the as strong necessity of confiding in the second."

"Perhaps it is a benevolent provision of Nature that we remember more what touches than what pains us."

"... we English people delight in a moral — not a moral to be deduced or inferred, but a nice, rounded, little moral, in all the starch of set sentences, and placed just at the end,"

"... who cares for a general compliment more than a general lover."

"Pattern love-letter — "I — I — I — you — you — you ; you — you — you — I — I — I," garnished with loves and doves ad libitum."

"We enjoy no pleasure so much as we do tormenting ourselves."

"If, even at three years old, we turn to the pleasures of memory, the less that is asserted about the felicity of childhood, the less there will be to dispute."

"A London day requires to be well aired before it is ventured into."

"Ah ! I appeal to all who have any sensibility — for themselves — how delightful it is to be called in the morning, yet not to obey that call. It combines two of the greatest enjoyments of which our nature is susceptible— obstinacy and indolence."

"I like to be candid in my admissions — it is so very disarming ; you forestall the objection which you admit — at least your adversary has scarcely the heart to push to its utmost the advantage which you so meekly confess."

"It is an unpleasant thing to differ in opinion with the rest of one's species — it is making a sort of North Pole of one's own, and then setting out in search of it."

"Philosophers are moral, and poets are picturesque about the country."

"She had always thought she would be like her father, and fancied a tall, dark, and handsome face."

"Everybody has some particular point on which they pique themselves ; generally something which ill deserves the pride bestowed upon it."

"A woman always exaggerates her beauty and its influence when they are past ; and it was a perpetual grief to think what her pretty face might have done for her."

"Other sorrows soften the heart, — poverty hardens it. Nothing like poverty for chilling the affections and repressing the spirits. Its annoyances are all of the small and mean order ; its regrets all of a selfish kind ; its presence is perpetual ; and the scant meal, and the grudged fire, are repeated day by day, yet who can become accustomed to them ?"

"He had married for love, under the frequent delusion of supposing that love will last under every circumstance most calculated to destroy it ; and, secondly, that it can supply the place of everything else."

"There is a favourite in every family; and, generally speaking, that favourite is the most troublesome member in it."

"We deny that poetry is fiction; its merit and its power lie alike in its truth:"

"The imagination, which is the source of poetry, has in every country been the beginning as well as the ornament of civilization. It civilizes because it refines."

"It is curious to observe how little one period resembles another. Centuries are the children of one mighty family, but here is no family-likeness between them."

"But preference, and its consequence, neglect, is the child's most cruel wrong. The bitter feeling of comparing our own lot with another's, will come quite soon enough without its being taught in infancy."

"But wit cuts its bright way through the glass-door of public favour;"

"Life has little breathing time ; and, even when we do for a moment reflect, it is rather on our present than our past : the pains and pleasures of memory are put aside as quickly as the poem which celebrates them."

"Ridicule is the re-action of enthusiasm. Sentiment was considered confined to schools ; and, so far from affecting too much feeling, people were beginning to be ashamed of having any."

"Literary taste is often confounded with literary talent by others, quite as much as by ourselves."

"It is a fact not to be disputed, that the aristocracy have not "progressed " in proportion to the other classes. A young nobleman of the present day has not a better education than his ancestor in the time of Elizabeth."

"And there the lovely Lily grew, The summer's purest flower, And many a tiny fairy knew The shelter of its bower,"

"Those cheerful bells, how can they bid A welcome to the new-born Year? I think on what the past has been ; I cannot hope—I only fear."

"The clouds, and not the stars, to them The omen and the sign be given— The clouds, the vapours of our soil, Not stars, whose element is heaven. The deepening shade, the flitting light, Mark what each coming month will know— The passing joy, the constant care, Of life's sad pilgrimage below."

"Deep in the silent waters, A thousand fathoms low, A gallant ship lies perishing — She foundered long ago."

"Does the sweet morning rise, Bride-like, from sleep, When their first revelries Bird and bee keep, Singing out joyously In the green tree ? Then, when my hopes are high, Think I of thee."

"Our sky has lost another star, The earth has claimed its own, And into dread eternity A glorious one is gone. He who could give departed things So much of light and breath, He is himself now with the past — Gone forth from life to death."

"Glorious and beautiful Were youth's feeling and youth's thought— Would that we did not annul All that in us then was wrought ! Would their influence could remain When the hope and dream depart ; Would we might through life retain Still some youth within the heart !"

"They know there must be May within the year, Else would they never dream that May was here."

"The poets told thy birth Was welcomed upon earth By the sweet multitude of shining flowers, By bursting buds, green leaves, and sunny hours."

"Then out on the folly of ancient times— The folly which wished you mirth : Look round on the anguish, look round on the vice, Then dare to be glad upon earth !"

"Is this the curse that is laid on the earth ? And must it ever be so, That there can be nothing of human good But must from some evil flow ? . . ."

"I saw an aged woman turn To her wretched home again — All day she had asked charity, And all day asked in vain. . . ."

"Now out upon you, Christmas ! Is this the merry time When the red hearth blazed, the harper sung, And the bells rung their glorious chime ? . . ."

"His heart is like a maggot-eaten nut: There's nothing in it ; but 'tis closely shut."

"Statues to whose rest seem'd given Not the life of earth but heaven ; For each statue here enshrined What in the immortal mind Makes its beauty and its power — Genius's eternal dower :"

"Black (for such the quarries yield Where the sun hath never shone, Which night only rests upon, Was the marble floor, which gave Mirror like some clear dark wave."