It is the privilege of genius that life never grows common place, as it does for the rest of us.

Whom the heart of man shuts out, Sometimes the heart of God takes in, And fences them all round about With silence mid the worlds loud din.

It may be glorious to write Thoughts that shall glad the two or three High souls, like those far stars that come in sight Once in a century.

There is something solid and doughty in the man that can rise from defeat, the stuff of which victories are made in due time, when we are able to choose our position better, and the sun is at our back.

Heaven is neither here nor there to me. Everywhere and nowhere. Just not in between, But I believe in Heaven.

The eye is the notebook of the poet.

The material of thought re-acts upon the thought itself.