Our moods do not believe in each other. To-day I am full of thoughts, and can write what I please. I see no reason why I should not have the same thought, the same power of expression, to-morrow. What I write, whilst I write it, seems the most natural thing in the world; but yesterday I saw a dreary vacuity in this direction in which now I see so much; and a month hence, I doubt not, I shall wonder who he was that wrote so many continuous pages. Alas for this infirm faith, this will not strenuous, this vast ebb of a vast flow! I am God in nature; I am a weed by the wall.

Surely nobody would be a charlatan, who could afford to be sincere.

Not the sun or summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight.

There is properly no history, only biography.

Out of sleeping a waking, Out of waking a sleep.

Money often costs too much.

Not for nothing one face, one character, one fact makes much impression on him, and another none.