The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations Preface

Vomits its wrecks, and still howls on for more.
‘Letter to Maria Gisborne’ (1820) l. 193
You will see Coleridge—he who sits obscure
In the exceeding lustre and the pure
Intense irradiation of a mind,
Which, with its own internal lightning blind,
Flags wearily through darkness and despair—
A cloud-encircled meteor of the air,
A hooded eagle among blinking owls—
You will see Hunt—one of those happy souls
Which are the salt of the earth, and without whom
This world would smell like what it is—a tomb.
‘Letter to Maria Gisborne’ (1820) l. 202
Have you not heard
When a man marries, dies, or turns Hindoo,
His best friends hear no more of him?
‘Letter to Maria Gisborne’ (1820) l. 235
His fine wit
Makes such a wound, the knife is lost in it.
‘Letter to Maria Gisborne’ (1820) l. 240 (on Thomas Love Peacock)
When the lamp is shattered
The light in the dust lies dead—
When the cloud is scattered
The rainbow’s glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.
‘Lines: When the lamp’
Beneath is spread like a green sea
The waveless plain of Lombardy,
Bounded by the vaporous air,
Islanded by cities fair;
Underneath Day’s azure eyes
Ocean’s nursling, Venice lies,
A peopled labyrinth of walls,
Amphitrite’s destined halls.
‘Lines written amongst the Euganean Hills’ (1818) l. 90
Sun-girt city, thou hast been
Ocean’s child, and then his queen;