Nothing is dead: men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out ofthe window, sound and well, in some new and strange disguise.

There is a capacity of virtue in us, and there is a capacity of vice to make your blood creep.

We sometimes meet an original gentleman, who, if manners had not existed, would have invented them.

Men should take their knowledge from the Sun, the Moon and the Stars.

Language is fossil Poetry.

Man is a stream whose source is hidden. Our being is descending into us from we know not whence. The most exact calculator has noprescience that somewhat incalculable may not balk the very next moment. I am constrained every moment to acknowledge a higher origin for events than the will I call mine.

All poets have signalized their consciousness of rare moments when they were superior to themselves, -when a light, a freedom, a power came to them which lifted them to performances far better than they could reach at other times.