The Imagination may be compared to Adam's dream --- he awoke and found it truth. I am the more zealous in this affair, because I have never yet been able to perceive how any thing can be known for truth by consecutive reasoning --- and yet it must be ---Can it be that even the greatest Philosopher ever arrived at his goal without putting aside numerous objections ---However it may be, O for a Life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts! It is 'a vision in the form of Youth's a Shadow of reality to come --- and this consideration has further conv[i]nced me for it has come as auxiliary to another favourite Speculation of mine, that we shall enjoy ourselves here after by having what we called happiness on Earth repeated in a finer tone and so repeated --- And yet such a fate can only befall those who delight in sensation rather than hunger as you do after truth --- Adam's dream will do here and seems to be a conviction that Imagination and its empyreal reflection is the same as human Life and its spiritual repetition. (Rollins 1: 185, to Bailey, 22 Nov. 1817)

I … went the next morning to see Death on the Pale horse. It is a wonderful picture, when West’s age is considered; But there is nothing to be intense upon; no women one feels mad to kiss; no face swelling into reality. the excellence of every Art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with Beauty & Truth ---Examine King Lear & you will find this exemplified throughout; but in this picture we have unpleasantness without any momentous depth of speculation excited, in which to bury its repulsiveness…. (Rollins 1: 192, To George and Tom Keats, 21 Dec. 1817)

Now it appears to me that almost any Man may like the Spider spin from his own inwards his own airy Citadel--- the points of leaves and twigs on which the Spider begins her work are few and she fills the Air with a beautiful circuiting: man should be content with as few points to tip with the fine Webb of his Soul and weave a tapestry empyrean… (Rollins 1: 231-32, To Reynolds, 19 Feb 1818)

I am sometimes so very sceptical as to think Poetry itself a mere Jack a lanthern to amuse whoever may chance to be struck with its brilliance. (Rollins 1: 242, to Bailey, 13 March 1818)

I am nearer myself to hear your Christ is being tinted into immortality --- Believe me Haydon your picture is a part of myself --- I have ever been too sensible of the labyrinthian path to eminence in Art (judging from Poetry) ever to think I understood the emphasis of Painting. The innumerable compositions and decompositions which take place between the intellect and its thousand materials before it arrives at that trembling delicate and snail-horn perception of Beauty--- I know not you havens of intenseness ---nor ever can know them --- but for this I hope not you atchieve is lost upon me(sic): for when a Schoolboy the abstract Idea I had of an heroic painting --- was what I cannot describe I saw it somewhat sideways large prominent round and colour'd with magnificence ---somewhat like the feel I have of Anthony and Cleopatra. (Rollins 1: 264-65, To Haydon, 8 April, 1818)

When I am writing for myself for the mere sake of the Moment’s enjoyment, perhaps nature has its course with me--- but a Preface is written to the Public; a thing I cannot help looking upon as an Enemy, and which I cannot address without feelings of Hostility--- I f I write a Preface in a supple or subdued style, it will not be in character with me as a public speaker --- I wod be subdued before my friends, and thank them for subduing me --- but among Multitudes of Men --- I have no feel of stooping, I hate the idea of humility to them--- I never wrote one single Line of Poetry with the least shadow of public thought. I would jump down Aetna for any great Public good --- but I hate a Mawkish Popularity.(Rollins 1: 266-67, to Reynolds, 9 April 1818)

(a large Mansion of Many Apartments/ thoughtless chamber/ chamber of Maiden thought)

I compare human life to a large Mansion of Many Apartments, two of which I can only describe, the doors of the rest being as yet shut upon me--- The first we step into we call the infant or thoughtless Chamber, in which we remain as long as we do not think --- we Remain there a long while, and notwithstanding the doors of the second Chamber remain wide open, showing a bright appearance, we care not to hasten to it; but are at length imperceptibly impelled by the awakening of the thinking principle ---within us ---we no sooner get into the second Chamber, which I shall call the Chamber of Maiden-Thought, than we become intoxicated with the light and the atmosphere, we see nothing but pleasant wonders, and think of delaying there for ever in delight: However among the effects this breathing is father of is that tremendous one of sharpening one’s vision the heart and nature of Man --- of convincing ones nerves that the World is full of Misery and Heartbreak, Pain, Sickness and oppression whereby This Chamber of Maiden Thought becomes gradually darken’d and at the same time on all sides of it many doors are set open--- but all dark --- all leading to dark passage --- We see not the balance of good and evil. We are in a Mist---We are now in that state --- We feel the “burden of the Mystery, (Rollins 1: 280-81, To Reynolds, 3 May 1818)

Ist As to the poetical Character itself, (I mean that sort of which, of I am anything, I am a Member; that sort distinguished from the Wordsworthian or egotistical sublime; which is a thing per se and stands alone) it is not itself--- it has no self ---it is every thing and nothing -- It has no character --it enjoys light and shade; it lives in gusto, be it foul or fair, high or low rich or poor, mean or elevated---It has as much delight in conceiving an Iago as an Imogen. What shocks the virtuous philosop[h]er, delights the camelion Poet. It does no harm from its relish of the dark side of things any more than from its taste for the bright one; because they both end in speculation. A Poet is the most unpoetical of any thing in existence; because he has no Identity ----he is continually in for ---- and filling some other Body (Rollins 1: 386-87, To Woodhouse, 27 Oct. 1818)

Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest Man shows a grace in his quarrel --- By a superior being our reasoning[s] may take the same tone --- though erroneous they may be fine --- This is the very thing in which consists poetry; (Rollins 2: 80-81, to The George Keatses , 19 March 1819)

Last Sunday I took a Walk towards highgate and in the lane that winds by the side of Lord Mansfield's park I met Mr Green our Demonstrator at Guy's in conversation with Coleridge --- I joined them, after enquiring by a look wether it would be agreeable --- I walked with him a[t] his alderman-after dinner pace for near two miles I suppose In those two Miles he broached a thousand things --- let me see if I can give you a list --- Nightingales, Poetry--- on Poetical sensation --- Metaphysics --- Different genera and species of Dreams --- Nightmare --- a dream accompanied by a sense of touch --- single and double touch --- A dream related ---First and second consciousness --- the difference explained between will and Volition --- so my metaphysicians from a want of smoking the second consciousness -- Monsters--- the Kraken --- mermaids--- Southey believes in them --- south's belief too much diluted---- A Ghost story--- Good morning--- I heard his voice as he came towards me--- I heard it as he moved away--- I had heard it all the interval --- if it may be called so. (Rollins 2: 88-89, To the George Keatses, 16 April 1819.)

The common cognomen of this world among the misguided and superstitious is ‘a vale of tears’ for which we are to be redeemed by a certain arbitrary interposition of God and taken to Heaven --- What a little circumscribe[d] straightened notion! Call the world if you Please ‘”The vale of Soul-making” Then you will find out the use of the world …. There may be intelligences or sparks of the divinity in millions --- but they are not Souls till they acquire identities, till each one is personally itself. … Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school am Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways! (Rollins 2: 101-02, to The George Keatses, 21 April 1819)

The following poem --- the last I have written is the first and the only one with which I have taken even moderate pains--- I have for the most part dash’d of my lines in a hurry --- This I have done leisurely --- I think it reads the more richly for it and will I hope encourage me to write other thing[s] in even a more peacable and healthy spirit. You must recollect that Psyche was not embodied as a goddess before the time of Apulieus the Platonist who lived after the Augustan age, and consequently the Goddess was never worshipped or sacrificed to with any of the ancient fervour --- and perhaps never thought of in the old religion --- I am more orthodox that to let a hethen Goddess to be so neglected--- (Rollins 2: 105-06, to The George Keatses, 30 April 1819)

I have of late been moulting: not for fresh feathers & wings: they are gone, and in their stead I hope to have a pair of patient sublunary legs. I have altered, not from a Chrysalis into a butterfly, but the Contrary. having two little loopholes, whence I may look out into the stage of the world: and that world on our coming here I almost forgot. (Rollins 2: 128, to Reynolds, 11 July 1819)

I am certain there is that sort of fire in it which must take hold of people in some way ---give them either pleasant or unpleasant sensation. What they want is a sensation of some sort. (Rollins 2: 189, To George Keats, 18 Sep. 1819)

How beautiful the season is now ---- How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather --- Dian skies --- I never like’d stubble fields so much as now --- Aye better than the chilly green of the spring. Somehow a stubble plain looks warm --- in the same way that some pictures look warm --- this struck me so much in my sunday’s walk that I composed upon it. (Rollins 2: 167, to Reynolds, 21 Sep. 1819.)

My book is coming out with very low hopes, though not spirits on my part. This shall be my last trial; not succeeding, I shall try what I can do in the Apothecary line. (Rollins 2: 298, to Brown, 21 June 1820)