What, after all, is heaven, but a transition from dim guesses and blind struggling with a mysterious and adverse fate to the fullness of all wisdom--from ignorance, in a word, to knowledge, but knowledge of what order?

Poverty is relative, and, therefor not ignoble.

Every man who observes vigilantly, and resolves steadfastly, grows unconsciously into genius.

Beside one deed of guilt, how blest is guiltless woe!

As the films of clay are removed from our eyes, Death loses the false aspect of the spectre, and we fall at last into its arms as a wearied child upon the bosom of its mother.

Genius, the Pythian of the beautiful, leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull.

If you wish to be loved, show more of your faults than your virtues.