Every great poem is in itself limited by necessity, but in its suggestions unlimited and infinite.

Often times we call a man [or woman] cold when he [or she] is only sad.

It is Lucifer, The son of mystery; And since God suffers him to be, He too, is God's minister, And labors for some good By us not understood.

Truly, this world can go on without us, if we would but think so.

The history of the past is a mere puppet-show. A little man comes out and blows a little trumpet, and goes in again. You look for something new, and lo! another little man comes out, and blows another little trumpet, and goes in again. And it is all over.

Weak minds make treaties with the passions they cannot overcome, and try to purchase happiness at the expense of principle; but the resolute will of a strong man scorns such means, and struggles nobly with his foe to achieve great deeds.

Whenever nature leaves a hole in a person's mind, she generally plasters it over with a thick coat of self-conceit.