When a man does not write his poetry, it escapes by other vents through him.
What torments of grief you endured, from evils that never arrived
The pest of society are the egotist, they are dull and bright, sacred and profane, course and fine. It is a disease that like the flu falls on all constitutions.
America means opportunity, freedom, power.
Man sheds grief as his skin sheds rain.
Do not speak of God much. After a very little conversation on the highest nature, thought deserts us and we run into formalism.