He had a wonderful talent for packing thought close and rendering
it portable.


His eloquence would alone have entitled him to a high rank in
literature.


It is evident that he had each and every one of the mental gifts
and each and every one of the acquirements that are so prodigally
displayed in the Plays and Poems, and in much higher and richer
degree than any other man of his time or of any previous time. He
was a genius without a mate, a prodigy not matable. There was only
one of him; the planet could not produce two of him at one birth,
nor in one age. He could have written anything that is in the
Plays and Poems. He could have written this:


The cloud-cap'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like an insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.


Also, he could have written this, but he refrained: