I fear that we are such gods or demigods only as fauns and satyrs, the divine allied to beasts, the creatures of appetite, and that, to some extent, our very life is our disgrace.

In the long run, we only hit what we aim at.

The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.

Under the one word "house" are included the schoolhouse, the almshouse, the jail, the tavern, the dwellinghouse; and the meanest shed or cave in which men live contains elements of all these. But nowhere on the earth stands the entire and perfect house.

It is not enough that we are truthful; we must cherish and carry out high purposes to be truthful about.

Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.

Homer and Shakespeare and Milton and Marvell and Wordsworth are but the rustling of leaves and crackling of twigs in the forest, and there is not yet the sound of any bird. The Muse has never lifted up her voice to sing.