Byron’s centenary, I confess, leaves me remarkably unmoved. There is a certain charm about the man; he was so candid and transparent in his egotism. But he had a fearful streak of vulgarity in him, which comes out with a vengeance both in his life and works. And how little substance there is for us, nowadays, in almost everything he wrote. More and more I find that I can only read poets who have something to say, not those who make beauty in void. It has always puzzled me that a man like Wordsworth should so much have admired Spenser, the perfect poetical example of vox et praeterea nihil.
(Letter no. 214: To Leonard Huxley, 29 aprilie 1924, Letters of Aldous Huxley (ed. Grover Smith), 1969, la p. 230)