I should not dare to call my soul my own.

There, that is our secret: go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand.

What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.

If you desire faith, then you have faith enough.

When the dust of death has choked a great man's voice, the common words he said turn oracles, the common thoughts he yoked like horses draw like griffins.

Experience, like a pale musician, holds a dulcimer of patience in his hand.

Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.