For poetry was all written before time was, and whenever we are so finely organized that we can penetrate into that region where the air is music, we hear those primal warblings, and attempt to write them down, but we lose ever and anon a word, a verse, and substitute something of our own, and thus miswrite the poem.

Nature cannot be surprised in undress. Beauty breaks in everywhere.

Who shall forbid a wise skepticism, seeing that there is no practical question on which anything more than an approximate solution can be had?

People do not seem to realize that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.

It really is considered one of the blessings of previous mates which you could manage being silly with them.

We do not live an equal life, but one of contrasts and patchwork; now a little joy, then a sorrow, now a sin, then a generous or brave action.

If your friend has displeased you, you shall not sit down to consider it, for he has already lost all memory of the passage, and has doubled his power to serve you, and, ere you can rise up again, will burden you with blessings.