Poetry Reproduces An Indefinable Mood That Is

I Am One Of Those Who Hold That Poetry Is Never So Blithe As In A Wanton And Irregular Subject.

I Speak The Truth, Not My Fill Of It, But As Much As I Dare Speak; And I Dare To Do So A Little More As I Grow Old.

I Go Out Of My Way, But Rather By License Than Carelessness.... It Is The Inattentive Reader Who Loses My Subject, Not I. Some Word About It Will Always Be Found Off In A Corner, Which Will Not Fail To Be Sufficient, Though It Takes Little Room.

The Good Opinion Of The Vulgar Is Injurious.

Habit Is Second Nature.