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Since all the riches of this world May be gifts from the Devil and earthly kings, I should suspect that I worshipp'd the Devil If I thank'd my God for worldly things.
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Nature in darkness groans and men are bound to sullen contemplation in the night: restless they turn on beds of sorrow; in their inmost brain feeling the crushing wheels, they rise, they write the bitter words of stern philosophy and knead the bread of knowledge with tears and groans.
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The Sick Rose O Rose, thou art sick. The invisible worm That flies in the night In the howling storm Has found out thy bed Of crimson joy, And his dark secret love Does thy life destroy.
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I must create a system, or be enslav'd by another man's.
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Mere enthusiasm is the all in all.
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Lo! now the direful monster, whose skin clings To his strong bones, strides o'er the groaning rocks: He withers all in silence, and his hand Unclothes the earth, and freezes up frail life.
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O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest, And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe; And all the daughters of the year shall dance! Sing now the lusty song of fruit and flowers.
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The difference between a bad artist and a good one is: the bad artist seems to copy a great deal; the good one really does.
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To the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself.
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More! More! is the cry of a mistaken soul.
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How do you know but ev’ry Bird that cuts the airy way, Is an immense world of delight, clos’d by your senses five?
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The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
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Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
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Where there is money there is no art.
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Art can never exist without naked beauty displayed.
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The world of imagination is the world of eternity. It is the divine bosom into which we shall all go after the death of the vegetated [i.e. mortal] body. This world of imagination is infinite and eternal, whereas the world of generation is finite and temporal. There exist in that eternal world the eternal realities of everything which we see reflected in this vegetable glass of nature.
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Gratitude is heaven itself.
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Gratitude is heaven itself; there could be no heaven without gratitude.
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The Man who never in his Mind & Thoughts travel'd to Heaven Is No Artist.
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Death is terrible, tho' borne on angels' wings!