It is not merely the multiplicity of tints, the gladness of tone, or the balminess of the air which delight in the spring; it is the still consecrated spirit of hope, the prophecy of happy days yet to come; the endless variety of nature, with presentiments of eternal flowers which never shall fade, and sympathy with the blessedness of the ever-developing world.

Knowledge is only one half. Faith is the other.

Poetry heals the wounds inflicted by reason.

Friendship, love, and piety ought to be handled with a sort of mysterious secrecy; they ought to be spoken of only in the rare moments of perfect confidence, to be mutually understood in silence. Many things are too delicate to be thought; many more, to be spoken.

The highest purpose of intellectual cultivation is to give a man a perfect knowledge and mastery of his own inner self.

The artist stands on the human being as a statue does on a pedestal.

We are near waking when we dream we are dreaming.