Whoever would do good in the world, ought not to deal in censure. We ought not to destroy, but rather construct.

Theories are usually the over-hasty efforts of an impatient understanding that would gladly be rid of phenomena, and so puts in their place pictures, notions, nay, often mere words.

A man may twist as he pleases, and do what he pleases, but he inevitably comes back to the track to which nature has destined him.

Could we perfect human nature, we might also expect a perfect state of things.

To live within limits. To want one thing. Or a few things very much and love them dearly. Cling to them, survey them from every angle. Become one with them - that is what makes the poet, the artist, the human being.

Happy is it, indeed, for me that my heart is capable of feeling the same simple and innocent pleasure as the peasant whose table is covered with food of his own rearing, and who not only enjoys his meal, but remembers with delight the happy days and sunny mornings when he planted it, the soft evenings when he watered it, and the pleasure he experienced in watching its daily growth.

Upon the creatures we have made, we are, ourselves, at last, dependent.