Every mental pursuit takes its reality and worth from the ardour of the pursuer.
Nothing ever becomes real till it is experienced.
It ought to come like the leaves to the trees, or it better not come at all.
I equally dislike the favor of the public with the love of a woman - they are both a cloying treacle to the wings of independence.
O for a life of Sensations rather than of Thoughts!
I am convinced more and more day by day that fine writing is next to fine doing, the top thing in the world.