Who looks upon a river in a meditative hour and is not reminded of the flux of all things?

The mind, once stretched by a new idea, never returns to its original dimensions.

Private, accidental, confidential conversation breeds thought. Clubs produce oftener words.

Men are what their mothers made them. You may as well ask a loom which weaves huckabuck why it does not make cashmere as to expect poetry from this engineer or a chemical discovery from that jobber.

Wisdom will never let us stand with any man on an unfriendly footing. We refuse sympathy and intimacy with people, as if we waited for some better sympathy or intimacy to come. But whence and when: Tomorrow will be like today. Life wastes itself while we are preparing to live.

No one can cheat you out of ultimate success but yourself.

Painting was called silent poetry and poetry speaking painting.