Generalization is always a new influx of divinity into the mind. Hence the thrill that attends it.

Genius is its own end.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, 'Thou must,' The youth whispers, 'I can.

It all begins when the soul would have its way with you.

The mind does not create what it perceives, any more than the eye creates the rose.

Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony.

An artist spends himself like the crayon in his hand, till he is all gone.