The frost which kills the harvest of a year saves the harvest of a century, by destroying the weevil or the locust.

Bare lists of words are found suggestive to an imaginative and excited mind.

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

The glance is natural magic. The mysterious communication established across a house between two entire strangers, moves all the springs of wonder. The communication by the glance is in the greatest part not subject to the control of the will. It is the bodily symbol of identity with nature. We look into the eyes to know if this other form is another self, and the eyes will not lie, but make a faithful confession what inhabitant is there.

Genius seems to consist merely in trueness of sight, in using such words as show that the man was an eye-witness, and not a repeater of what was told.

A man must consider what a rich realm he abdicates when he becomes a conformist.

What can we see, read, acquire, but ourselves. Take the book, my friend, and read your eyes out, you will never find there what I find.