For, rightly, every man is a channel through which heaven floweth, and, whilst I fancied I was criticising him, I was censuring orrather terminating my own soul.

For the time of towns is tolled from the world by funereal chimes, but in nature the universal hours are counted by succeeding tribes of animals and plants, and by growth of joy on joy.

Why needs a man be rich? Why must he have horses, fine garments, handsome apartments, access to public houses, and places of amusement? Only for want of thought.

He is a dull observer whose experience has not taught him the reality and force of magic, as well as of chemistry.

The profoundest thought or passion sleeps as in a mine, until an equal mind and heart finds and publishes it.

That which we call character is a reserved force which acts directly by presence, and without means. It is conceived of as a certain undemonstrable force, a familiar or genius, by whose impulses the man is guided, but whose counsels he cannot impart.

To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone.