My companion assumes to know my mood and habit of thought, and we go on from explanation to explanation, until all is said that words can, and we leave matters just as they were at first, because of that vicious assumption.

Cupid is a casuist, a mystic, and a cabalist,-- Can your lurking thought surprise, And interpret your device, . . . . All things wait for and divine him,-- How shall I dare to malign him?

Right is more beautiful than private affection, and is compatible with universal wisdom.

Go oft to the house of thy friend, for weeds choke the unused path.

Only that is poetry which cleanses and mans me.

A man is not to aim at innocence, any more than he is to aim at hair, but he is to keep it.

Evermore in the world is this marvelous balance of beauty and disgust, magnificence and rats.