The modernness of all good books seems to give men an existence as wide as man.
Astronomy to the selfish becomes astrology.
The world we live in is but thickened light.
There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us.
The torpid artist seeks inspiration at any cost, by virtue or by vice, by friend or by fiend, by prayer or by wine.
But in every constitution some large degree of animal vigor is necessary as material foundation for the higher qualities of the art.