Who killed Johnny Keats? "I," said the Quarterly, "So savage and tartarly, 'Twas one of my feats

One word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdain'd For thee to disdain it

All of us who are worth anything, spend our manhood in unlearning the follies, or expiating the mistakes of our youth.

Man has no right to kill his brother. It is no excuse that he does so in uniform: he only adds the infamy of servitude to the crime of murder.

If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.