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.

Be He nowhere else, God is in all that liberates and lifts, in all that humbles, sweetens, and consoles.

Metaphor is no argument, though it be sometimes the gunpowder to drive one home, and imbed it in the memory.

Solitude is as needful to the imagination as society is wholesome for the character.

The nurse of full-grown souls is solitude.

No man can produce great things who is not thoroughly sincere in dealing with himself, who would not exchange the finest show for the poorest reality, who does not so love his work that he is not only glad to give himself for it, but finds rather a gain than a sacrifice in the surrender.

The mind can weave itself warmly in the cocoon of its own thoughts, and dwell a hermit anywhere.