O dream of fame, what hast thou been to me But the destroyer of life's calm content! - Letitia Elizabeth Landon

Who shall say
The love of genius is a common thing,
Such as the many feel—half selfishness,
Half vanity?—for genius is divine,
And, like a god, doth turn its dwelling-place
Into a temple; and the heart redeem'd
By its fine influence is immortal shrine
For love's divinity.

Literary taste is often confounded with literary talent by others, quite as much as by ourselves.

There is an indolence in grief
Which will not even seek relief. What is the toil, or care, or pain,
The human heart cannot sustain?
Enough if struggling can create
A change or colour in our fate;
But where's the spirit that can cope
With listless suffering, when hope,
The last of misery's allies,
Sickens of its sweet self, and dies.