The order of things consents to virtue.

Who can . . . guess how much industry and providence and affection we have caught from the pantomime of brutes?

These arts open great gates of a future, promising to make the world plastic and to lift human life out of its beggary to a god- like ease and power.

It does not need that a poem should be long. Every word was once a poem.

A day for toil, an hour for sport, but for a friend is life too short.

There is a tendency in things to right themselves, and the war or revolution or bankruptcy that shatters rotten system, allows things to take a new and natural order.

Science does not know its debt to imagination. Goethe did not believe that a great naturalist could exist without this faculty.