And one might therefore say of me that in this book I have only made up a bunch of other people's flowers, and that of my own I have only provided the string that ties them together.

We find our energies are actually cramped when we are overanxious to succeed.

Tis faith alone that vividly and certainly comprehends the deep mysteries of our religion.

Man (in good earnest) is a marvellous vain, fickle, and unstable subject, and on whom it is very hard to form any certain and uniform judgment.

The good, supreme, divine poetry is above the rules and reason. Whoever discerns its beauty with a firm, sedate gaze does not see it, any more than he sees the splendor of a lightning flash. It does not persuade our judgement, it ravishes and overwhelms it.

What kind of truth is this which is true on one side of a mountain and false on the other?

Whom conscience, ne'er asleep, Wounds with incessant strokes, not loud, but deep.