I shall do everything it becomes me to do.

The wrong that rouses our angry passions finds only a medium in us; it passes through us like a vibration, and we inflict what we have suffered.

It always seemed to me a sort of clever stupidity only to have one sort of talent - like a carrier pigeon.

Would not love see returning penitence afar off, and fall on its neck and kiss it?

but very little achievement is required in order to pity another man's shortcomings.

I'm not one of those that can see the cat in the dairy and wonder what she's there for.

How should all the apparatus of heaven and earth make poetry for a mind that had no movements of awe and tenderness, no sense of fellowship which thrills from the near to the distant, and back again from the distant to the near?