We are not all equal, nor can we be so.

With little wit and ease to suit them, They whirl in narrow circling trails, Like kittens playing with their tails.

I nothing had, and yet enough for youth--Joy in Illusion, ardent thirst for Truth. Give unrestrained, the old emotion, The bliss that touched the verge of pain, The strength of Hate, Love's deep devotion,--O, give me back my youth again!

There is nothing so terrible as activity without insight.

Superstition is the poetry of life. It is inherent in man's nature; and when we think it is wholly eradicated, it takes refuge in the strangest holes and corners, whence it peeps out all at once, as soon as it can do it with safety.

Collectors are happy people.

Do not give in too much to feelings. A overly sensitive heart is an unhappy possession on this shaky earth.