To know that one has a secret is to know half the secret itself.
Theology is but our ideas of truth classified and arranged.
Ignorance is the womb of monsters.
Titles are too "thin" for the nineteenth century.
It gives one a sudden start in going down a barren, stoney street, to see upon a narrow strip of grass, just within the iron fence, the radiant dandelion, shining in the grass, like a spark dropped from the sun.
We are but a point, a single comma, and God is the literature of eternity.