“Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not.”

Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.

You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving.

I wish you could invent some means to make me at all happy without you. Every hour I am more and more concentrated in you; everything else tastes like chaff in my mouth.

Touch has a memory. O say, love say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty?

Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings?

Is there another Life? Shall I awake and find all this a dream? There must be we cannot be created for this sort of suffering.

A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.

Many have original minds who do not think it – they are led away by custom!

Let us open our leaves like a flower, and be passive and receptive.

That queen of secrecy, the violet.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight; With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white, And taper fingers catching at all things, To bind them all about with tiny rings.

One of the most mysterious of semi-speculations is, one would suppose, that of one Mind’s imagining into another

I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.

Every fresh experience points out some form of error which we shall afterwards carefully avoid.

Where the nightingale doth sing Not a senseless, tranced thing, But divine melodious truth.

Tis the witching hour of night, Orbed is the moon and bright. And the stars they glisten, glisten, Seeming with bright eyes to listen- For what listen they?

I have always liked the contrast between being blonde and having dark features.

To tell a woman who is forty, “You look like sixteen,” is boloney. The blarney way of saying it is “Tell me how old you are, I should like to know at what age women are the most beautiful.

So grand yet so small, so important yet so irrelevant, so beautiful yet so shallow, must thee live in illusion or does real life leave too much of a confusion?

My loneliness envies company. I searched for it for years, a specific kind of love. We all dream of something perfect though could find something so much more beautiful.

God made me in my beautiful form so I’m just trying to execute it.

Plain women know more about men than beautiful women do.

Messed up people even see the beauty in all the shitty places.

There is something poetic about the way she floats when she walks now.