In a tavern everybody puts on airs except the landlord.

What I need is someone who will make me do what I can.

I pack my trunk, embrace my friends, embark on the sea and at last wake up in Naples, and there beside me is the stern fact, the sad self, unrelenting, identical, that I fled from.

Sleep takes off the costume of circumstance, arms us with terrible freedom, so that every will rushes to a deed.

And what is Genius but finer love, a love impersonal, a love of the flower and perfection of things, and a desire to draw a new picture or copy of the same? It looks to the cause and life: it proceeds from within outward, whilst Talent goes from without inward.

What we seek we shall find; what we flee from flees from us.

The man for whom the law exists - the man of forms, the conservative - is a tame man.