The man, most man, works best for men: and, if most man indeed, he gets his manhood plainest from his soul.

I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.

Foolishness and criticism are so apt, do so naturally go together!

What monster have we here? A great Deed at this hour of day? A great just deed - and not for pay? Absurd - or insincere?

The plague of gold strikes far and near.

At painful times, when composition is impossible and reading not enough, grammars and dictionaries are excellent for distraction.

What we call Life is a condition of the soul. And the soul must improve in happiness and wisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these faintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.