So many things--nay every real thing--is good if only it will be humble and ordinate.

Thus, and not otherwise, the world was made. Either something or nothing must depend on individual choices.

While we are actually subjected to them, the 'moods' and 'spirits' of nature point no morals. Overwhelming gaiety, insupportable grandeur, sombre desolation are flung at you. Make what you can of them, if you must make at all. The only imperative that nature utters is, 'Look. Listen. Attend.

And so take away his work, which was his life [. . .] and all his glory and his great deeds? Make a child and a dotard of him? Keep him to myself at that cost? Make him so mine that he was no longer his?

The only moral that is of any value is that which arises inevitably from the whole cast of the author's mind.

Those who have nothing can share nothing; those who are going nowhere can have no fellow-travellers.

Literary Experience heals the wound, without undermining the privilege of individuality.. .Here, as in worship, in love, in moral action, and in knowing, I transcend myself; and am never more myself than when I do.