Men are monopolists of "stars, garters, buttons and other shining baubles"- unfit to be the guardians of another person's happiness.
Omissions are not accidents.
The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence.
As contagion of sickness makes sickness, contagion of trust can make trust.
A man is a writer if all his words are strung in definite sentence sounds.
Not till the poets among us can be "literalists of the imagination"-above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, "imaginary gardens with real toads in them." shall we have it.