Memory, Bosom-spring Of Joy.

The Genius Of Coleridge Is Like A Sunken Treasure Ship, And Coleridge A Diver Too Timid And Lazy To Bring Its Riches To The Surface.

The Whole Faculties Of Man Must Be Exerted In Order To Call Forth Noble Energies; And He Who Is Not Earnestly Sincere Lives In But Half His Being, Self-mutilated, Self-paralyzed.

An Undevout Poet Is An Impossibility.

That Willing Suspension Of Disbelief For The Moment, Which Constitutes Poetic Faith.

Hamlet 's Character Is The Prevalence Of The Abstracting And Generalizing Habit Over The Practical. He Does Not Want Courage, Skill, Will, Or Opportunity; But Every Incident Sets Him Thinking; And It Is Curious, And At The Same Time Strictly Natural, That Hamlet, Who All The Play Seems Reason Itself, Should He Impelled, At Last, By Mere Accident To Effect His Object. I Have A Smack Of Hamlet Myself, If I May Say So.