The first thing in all progress is to leave something behind.

For this, deep waters whelm the fruitful lea, Wars ravage, famine wastes, plague withers, nor Shall cease till men have chosen the better part.

But words are vain; reject them all— They utter but a feeble part: Hear thou the depths from which they call, The voiceless longing of my heart.

I say again, if I cannot draw a horse, I will not write THIS IS A HORSE under what I foolishly meant for one.

I wondered over again for the hundredth time what could be the principle which, in the wildest, most lawless, fantastically chaotic, apparently capricious work of Nature, always kept it beautiful.

Nothing makes one feel so strong as a call for help.

As to the pure all things are pure, so the common mind sees far more vulgarity in others than the mind developed in genuine refinement.