There is a great deal more than is commonly supposed in this choice of words.
Men's thoughts and opinions are in a great degree vassals of him who invents a new phrase or reapplies an old epithet.
The thought or feeling a thousand times repeated becomes his at last who utters it best.
This power of language is veiled in the old legends which make the invisible powers the servants of some word.
As soon as we have discovered the word for our joy or sorrow we are no longer its serfs, but its lords.
We reward the discoverer of an anaesthetic for the body and make him member of all the societies, but him who finds a nepenthe for the soul we elect into the small academy of the immortals.
The poems of Keats
mark an epoch in English poetry; for, however often we may find traces of it in others, in them found its most unconscious expression that reaction against the barrel-organ style which had been reigning by a kind of sleepy divine right for half a century.
The lowest point was indicated when there was such an utter confounding of the common and the uncommon sense that Dr. Johnson
wrote verse and Burke
The most profound gospel of criticism was, that nothing was good poetry that could not be translated into good prose, as if one should say that the test of sufficient moonlight was that tallow-candles
could be made of it. We find Keats
at first going to the other extreme, and endeavoring to extract green cucumbers from the rays of tallow; but we see also incontestable proof of the greatness and purity of his poetic gift in the constant return toward equilibrium and repose in his later poems.
And it is a repose always lofty and clear-aired, like that of the eagle balanced in incommunicable sunshine.
In him a vigorous understanding developed itself in equal measure with the divine faculty; thought emancipated itself from expression without becoming its tyrant; and music