Whenever we discover a dislike in us, toward any one, we should ever be a little suspicious of ourselves.

I love to sail forbidden seas, and land on barbarous coasts.

That mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true--not true, or undeveloped.

In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary?

Talk not to me of blasphemy, man; I'd strike the sun if it insulted me.

And yet self-knowledge is thought by some not so easy. Who knows, my dear sir, but for a time you may have taken yourself for somebody else? Stranger things have happened.

The man that has anything bountifully laughable about him, be sure there is more in that man than you perhaps think for.