Genius detects through the fly, through the caterpillar, through the grub, through the egg, the constant individual; through countless individuals the fixed species; through many species the genus; through all genera the steadfast type; through all the kingdoms of organized life the eternal unity. Nature is a mutable cloud which is always and never the same.

But what help from these fineries or pedantries? What help from thought? Life is not dialectics. We, I think, in these times, have had lessons enough of the futility of criticism.

Sorrow makes us all children again.

One of the benefits of a college education is to show the boy its little avail.

Homeopathy is insignificant as an act of healing, but of great value as criticism on the hygeia or medical practice of the time.

Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is like a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue. . . .

In this great society wide lying around us, a critical analysis would find very few spontaneous actions. It is almost all custom and gross sense.