It is pleasant to have been to a place the way a river went.

What is called genius is the abundance of life and health.

The lichen on the rocks is a rude and simple shield which beginning and imperfect Nature suspended there. Still hangs her wrinkledtrophy.

The poet's body even is not fed like other men's, but he sometimes tastes the genuine nectar and ambrosia of the gods, and lives adivine life. By the healthful and invigorating thrills of inspiration his life is preserved to a serene old age.

One generation abandons the enterprises of another like stranded vessels.

The gods cannot misunderstand, man cannot explain.

Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.