Without inspiration the best powers of the mind remain dormant. There is a fuel in us which needs to be ignited with sparks.

The roots of the deepest love die in the heart, if not tenderly cherished.

The craving for a delicate fruit is pleasanter than the fruit itself.

Everyone loves his own country, customs, language, wife, children, not because they are the best in the world, but because they are his established property, and he loves in them himself, and the labor he has bestowed on them. The working of revolutions, therefore, misleads me no more; it is as necessary to our race as its waves to the stream, that it may not be a stagnant marsh. Ever renewed in its forms, the genius of humanity blossoms.

A poet is the creator of the nation around him, he gives them a world to see and has their souls in his hand to lead them to that world.

Have you never observed that children will sometimes, of a sudden, give utterance to ideas which makes us wonder how they got possession of them? Which presuppose a long series of other ideas and secret self-communings? Which break forth like a full stream out of the earth, an infallible sign that the stream was not produced in a moment from a few raindrops, but had long been flowing concealed beneath the ground?

What of us lies in the hearts of others is our truest and deepest self.