The Universe, so far as we can observe it, is a wonderful and immense engine; its extent, its order, its beauty, its cruelty, makes it alike impressive.

Tomes of aesthetic criticism hang on a few moments of real delight and intuition.

Plasticity loves new moulds because it can fill them, but for a man of sluggish mind and bad manners there is decidedly no place like home.

To condemn spontaneous and delightful occupations because they are useless for self-preservation shows an uncritical prizing of life irrespective of its content.

Unmitigated seriousness is always out of place in human affairs.

The arts must study their occasions; they must stand modestly aside until they can slip in fitly into the interstices of life.

Before you contradict an old man, my fair friend, you should endeavour to understand him.