Happy indeed the poet of whom, like Orpheus, nothing is known but an immortal name! Happy next, perhaps, the poet of whom, like Homer, nothing is known but the immortal works. The more the merely human part of the poet remains a mystery, the more willing is the reverence given to his divine mission.

Say what we will, we may be sure that ambition is an error. Its wear and tear on the heart are never recompensed.

Earnest men never think in vain, though their thoughts may be errors.

Rarest of all things on earth is the union in which both, by their contrasts, make harmonious their blending; each supplying the defects of the helpmate, and completing, by fusion, one strong human soul.

Law dies, books never.

Fate laughs at probabilities.

Reading without purpose is sauntering not exercise.