“You are always new, the last of your kisses was ever the sweetest.”

O aching time! O moments big as years!

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave a paradise for a sect.

Beauty is truth, truth beauty,-that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Like a mermaid in sea-weed, she dreams awake, trembling in her soft and chilly nest.

Death is Life’s high meed.

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.

I’m too shy to do kissing scenes.

Her kiss is a sun-burn that never heals.

Never kiss anyone who doesn’t believe in poetry.

You are always new. The last of your kisses was even the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest.

Kiss me Its been so long since I have seen the stars.

If I want to kiss, I shall kiss. If I am told that a lovemaking scene is integral to the script, I will consider it.

And how they kist each other’s tremulous eyes.

But the rose leaves herself upon the brier, For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed.