“Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night.”

I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments of Genius; which to Angels look like torment and insanity.

The fool who persists in his folly will become wise.

He who kisses joy as it flies by will live in eternity’s sunrise.

Everything possible to be believed is an image of truth.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

The moon, like a flower in heaven’s high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Thy friendship oft has made my heart to ache: do be my enemy for friendship’s sake.

The imagination is not a state: it is the human existence itself.

The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow

Fiery the Angels rose, & as they rose deep thunder roll’d Around their shores, indignant burning with the fires of Orc.

Imagination is the real and eternal world of which this vegetable universe is but a faint shadow.

I will not reason and compare my business is to create.

We are here to learn to endure the beams of love.

What is now proved was once only imagined.

Thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

Opposition is true Friendship.

We go to the grave of a friend saying, “A man is dead,” but angels throng about him saying, “A man is born.”

Whatever inspiration is, it’s born from a continuous “I don’t know.

Thankful for the rose grateful for its thorns these lessons bloom like weeds from them I am reborn.

She has learned so much from dying only to be born again.

Aren’t all poets born from tragedy?

To be man’s tender mate was woman born, and in obeying nature she best serves the purposes of heaven.

Between holding on and letting go october discerns october knows, that life lurks between the clouds of death and death breathes with every rebirth.

Even when the blood in my veins is the same as them, every cell in my body is against becoming like them. What a curse it is to hate the very thing that birth you.