So all that is said of the wise man by Stoic or Oriental or modern essayist, describes to each reader his own idea, describes his unattained but attainable self.

As many languages as he has, as many friends, as many arts and trades, so many times is he a man.

From within or from behind, a light shines through us upon things, and makes us aware that we are nothing, but the light is all.

THE POET A moody child and wildly wise Pursued the game with joyful eyes, Which chose, like meteors, their way, And rived the dark with private ray: They overleapt the horizon's edge, Searched with Apollo's privilege; Through man, and woman, and sea, and star, Saw the dance of nature forward far; Through worlds, and races, and terms, and times, Saw musical order, and pairing rhymes. Olympian bards who sung Divine ideas below, Which always find us young, And always keep us so.

No performance is worth loss of geniality. 'Tis a cruel price we pay for certain fancy goods called fine arts and philosophy.

A dilettantism in nature is barren and unworthy. A fop of fields is no better than his brother on Broadway.

The best university that can be recommended to a man of ideas is the gauntlet of the mob.