[P]oetry resembles metaphysics: one does not mind one's own, but one does not like anyone else's.

He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysics wit can fly

Some force whole regions, in despite O' geography, to change their site; Make former times shake hands with latter, And that which was before come after; But those that write in rhyme still make The one verse for the other's sake; For one for sense, and one for rhyme, I think's sufficient at one time.

For rhyme the rudder is of verses, With which, like ships, they steer their courses.

My imagination makes me human and makes me a fool; it gives me all the world and exiles me from it.

I obviously invented Solipsism