“The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.”
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The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
I would define, in brief, the poetry of words as the rhythmical creation of Beauty.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
