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

If poetry does not come as naturally as leaves to a tree, then it better not come at all.

The poetry of earth is never dead When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide I cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead.

Nothing ever becomes real till experienced – even a proverb is no proverb until your life has illustrated it.

My mind has been the most discontented and restless one that ever was put into a body too small for it.

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.

Some say the world is a vale of tears, I say it is a place of soul-making.

Philosophy will clip an angel’s wings, Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine – Unweave a rainbow.

If I should die, I have left no immortal work behind me — nothing to make my friends proud of my memory — but I have loved the principle of beauty in all things, and if I had had time I would have made myself remembered.

The creature has a purpose, and his eyes are bright with it.

The open sky sits upon our senses like a sapphire crown – the Air is our robe of state – the Earth is our throne, and the Sea a mighty minstrel playing before it.

I love your hills and I love your dales, And I love your flocks a-bleating; but oh, on the heather to lie together, With both our hearts a-beating!

To stay youthful, stay useful.

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections, and the truth of imagination.

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

Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.

My imagination is a monastery and I am its monk.

Holidays are the best. I couldn’t imagine being from a small family.

The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.

Fear is not real. The only place that fear can exist is in our thoughts of the future. It is a product of our imagination, causing us to fear things that do not at present and may not ever exist. Do not misunderstand me danger is very real, but fear is a choice.

Intelligence is the wife, imagination is the mistress, memory is the servant.

Imagine a dolphin dancing in the sky. Let it dance with joy. Think of yourself at the bottom of the ocean watching.

Imagine a dolphin dancing in the sky. Let it dance with joy. Think of yourself at the bottom of the ocean watching.

Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.

Every generation imagines itself to be more intelligent than the one that went before it, and wiser than the one that comes after it.