Fastidiousness is only another word for egotism; and all men who know not where to look for truth save in the narrow well of self will find their own image at the bottom, and mistake it for what they are seeking.

In the ocean of baseness, the deeper we get, the easier the sinking.

It is the rooted instinct in men to admire what is better and more beautiful than themselves.

Sorrow is the great idealizer.

No man can produce great things who is not thoroughly sincere in dealing with himself.

Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

Some day the soft Ideal that we wooed confronts us fiercely, foe-beset, pursued, and cries reproachful: Was it then my praise, and not myself was loved? Prove now thy truth; I claim of thee the promise of thy youth.