Popular poets are the parish priests of the Muse, retailing her ancient divinations to a long since converted public.

Mortality has its compensations; one is that all evils are transitory, another that better times may come.

The body is an instrument, the mind its function, the witness and reward of its operation.

The brute necessity of believing something so long as life lasts does not justify any belief in particular.

Those who speak most of progress measure it by quantity and not by quality.

There is no dunce like a mature dunce.

... so in love the heart surrenders itself entirely to the one being that has known how to touch it. That being is not selected; it is recognised and obeyed.