How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice.
Poetry and art and knowledge are sacred and pure.
It is as useless to fight against the interpretations of ignorance as to whip the fog.
Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning.
"Abroad," that large home of ruined reputations.
Only those who know the supremacy of the intellectual life──the life which has a seed of ennobling thought and purpose within──can understand the grief of one who falls from that serene activity into the absorbing soul-wasting struggle with worldly annoyances.