Imagination is not a talent of some men but is the health of every man.

My good hoe as it bites the ground revenges my wrongs, and I have less lust to bite my enemies. In the smoothing the rough hillocks, I smooth my temper.

Man is physical as well as metaphysical, a thing of shreds and patches, borrowed unequally from good and bad ancestors, and a misfit from the start.

How beautiful to have the church always open, so that every tired wayfaring man may come in and be soothed by all that art can suggest of a better world when he is weary with this.

We must leave our pets at home, when we go into the street, and meet men on broad grounds of good meaning and good sense.

Life wastes itself whilst we are preparing to live.

We seek our friend not sacredly, but with an adulterate passion which would appropriate him to ourselves.