I stand in the sunny noon of life. Objects no longer glitter in the dews of morning, neither are yet softened by the shadows of evening.

All great expression, which on a superficial survey seems so easy as well as so simple, furnishes after a while, to the faithful observer, its own standard by which to appreciate it.

This is the method of genius, to ripen fruit for the crowd by those rays of whose heat they complain.

Those have not lived who have not seen Rome.

Pain has no effect but to steal some of my time.

With the intellect I always have always shall overcome, but that is not the half of the work. The life, the life Oh my God! shall the life never be sweet!

We cannot have expression till there is something to be expressed.