“t this is human life: the war, the deeds,The disappointment, the anxiety,Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,All human; bearing in themselves this good,That they are still the air, the subtle food,To make us feel existence, and to shewHow quiet death is.”

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a timeI have been half in love with easeful Death,Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme,To take into the air my quiet breath.”

“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.”

“To feel forever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever-or else swoon in death.”

“I have a habitual feeling of my real life having past, and that I am now leading a posthumous existence.”

“Whatever the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth -whether it existed before or not”

“Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, Call'd him soft names in many a musèd rhyme, To take into the air my quiet breath; Now more than ever seems it rich to die,To cease upon the midnight with no pain,While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad In such an ecstasy!”