All nobility in its beginnings was somebody's natural superiority.

We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten. We can receive anything from love, forthat is a way of receiving it from ourselves; but not from any one who assumes to bestow. We sometimes hate the meat which we eat, because there seems something of degrading dependence in living it.

Beware of too much good staying in your hand. It will fast corrupt and worm worms. Pay it away quickly in some sort.

He who would be a great soul in the future, must be a great soul now.

Who can . . . guess how much industry and providence and affection we have caught from the pantomime of brutes?

Must we always talk for victory, and never once for truth, for comfort, and joy?

Among the multitude of scholars and authors, we feel no hallowing presence; we are sensible of a knack and skill rather than of inspiration; they have a light, and know not whence it comes, and call it their own; their talent is some exaggerated faculty, some overgrown member, so that their strength is a disease.