Condense some daily experience into a glowing symbol and an audience is electrified.

People are timid and apologetic; they are no longer upright; they dare not say "I think," "I am," but quote some saint or sage. They are ashamed before the blade of grass or the blowing rose. These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day.

Society has really no graver interest than the well-being of the literary class.

The mind will quote whether the tongue does or not.

The Englishman who has lost his fortune is said to have died of a broken heart.

Fate is unpenetrated causes.

But it is a cold, lifeless business when you go to the shops to buy something, which does not represent your life and talent, but a goldsmith's.