Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain Clings cruelly to us.

Though a quarrel in the streets is a thing to be hated, the energies displayed in it are fine; the commonest man shows a grace in his quarrel.

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard are sweeter.

It appears to me that almost any man may like the spider spin from his own inwards his own airy citadel.

That which is creative must create itself.

The roaring of the wind is my wife and the stars through the window pane are my children.

A man's life of any worth is a continual allegory.