Poverty, Frost, Famine, Rain, Disease, are the beadles and guardsmen that hold us to Common Sense.
The world is his who can see through its pretension.
The roses under my window make no reference to former roses or better ones; they are what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.
Genius, even, as it is the greatest good, is he greatest harm.
A man in pursuit of greatness feels no little wants.
Our chief want is someone who will inspire us to be what we know we could be.