A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise shall give him no peace.

The man is only half himself, the other half is his expression.

Words are finite organs of the infinite mind. They cannot cover the dimensions of what is in truth. They break, chop, and impoverish it.

It is very odd that Nature should be so unscrupulous. She is no saint . . .

The True Artist has the planet for his pedestal; the adventurer, after years of strife, has nothing broader than his shoes.

A man must consider what a blindman's-buff is this game of conformity.

The poisons are our principal medicines, which kill the disease and save the life.