Our thoughts are often worse than we are.
It is the way with half the truth amidst which we live, that it only haunts us and makes dull pulsations that are never born into sound.
A blush is no language; only a dubious flag - signal which may mean either of two contradictories
Many an inherited sorrow that has marred a life has been breathed into no human ear.
Genius ... is necessarily intolerant of fetters.
Don't seem to he on the lookout for crows, else you'll set other people watching.