There is no bore we dread being left alone with so much as our own minds.

Laborin' man an' laborin' woman Hev one glory an' one shame; Ev'y thin' thet' s done inhuman Injers all on 'em the same.

To genius life never grows commonplace.

Two meanings have our lightest fantasies,- One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

All God's angels come to us disguised.

The realm of death seems an enemy's country to most men, on whose shores they are loathly driven by stress of weather; to the wise man it is the desired port where he moors his bark gladly, as in some quiet haven of the Fortunate Isles; it is the golden west into which his sun sinks, and, sinking, casts back a glory upon the leaden cloud-tack which had darkly besieged his day.

My soul is not a palace of the past.