The abstractionist and the materialist thus mutually exasperating each other, and the scoffer expressing the worst of materialism, there arises a third party to occupy the middle ground between these two, the skeptic, namely. He finds both wrong by being in extremes. He labors to plant his feet, to be the beam of the balance.

The soul exists partly in eternity and partly in time.

What is odious but . . . people . . . who toast their feet on the register. . . .

Poetry being an attempt to express, not the common sense, - as the avoirdupois of the hero, or his structure in feet and inches, - but the beauty and soul in his aspect . . . runs into fable, personifies every fact. . . .

Never worry about anything. Live in the present. Live now. Be happy.

Who can wonder at the attractiveness... of the bar, for our ambitious young men, when the highest bribes of society are at the feet of the successful orator?

In these times I don't, in a manner of speaking, know what I want; perhaps I don't want what I know and want what I don't know.