The beautiful is a phenomenon which is never apparent of itself, but is reflected in a thousand different works of the creator.

The assault of our enemies is not part of our life; it is only part of our experience; we throw it off and guard ourselves against it as against frost, storm, rain, hail, or any other of the external evils which may be expected to happen.

We cannot too soon convince ourselves how easily we may be dispensed with in the world. What important personages we imagine ourselves to be! We think that we alone are the life of the circle in which we move; in our absence, we fancy that life, existence, breath will come to a general pause, and, alas, the gap which we leave is scarcely perceptible, so quickly is it filled again; nay, it is often the place, if not of something better, at least for something more agreeable.

What I possess, seems far away to me, and what is gone becomes reality.

Superstition is the poesy of practical life; hence, a poet is none the worse for being superstitious.

If I work incessantly to the last, nature owes me another form of existence when the present one collapses.

Sceptics are yet the most credulous.