But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.

The man or country that fights priestcraft and priests is to my mind striking deeper for freedom than can be struck anywhere.

But O the truth, the truth. The many eyes That look on it The diverse things they see.

Memoirs are the backstairs of history.

What a dusty answer gets the soul When hot for certainties in this our life!

A woman who is not quite a fool will forgive your being but a man, if you are surely that. . .

George Eliot has the heart of Sappho; but the face, with the long proboscis, the protruding teeth of the Apocalyptic horse, betrayed animality.