I cannot often enough say, that a man is only a relative and representative nature. Each is a hint of the truth, but far enough from being that truth, which yet he quite newly and inevitably suggests to us. If I seek it in him, I shall not find it.

...in the wilderness, I find something more dear and connate than in the streets or villages...in the woods we return to reason and faith.

An actually existing fly is more important than a possibly existing angel.

One lesson we learn early, that in spite of seeming difference, men are all of one pattern. We readily assume this with our mates, and are disappointed and angry if we find that we are premature, and that their watches are slower than ours. In fact, the only sin which we never forgive in each other is difference of opinion.

But we need not fear that we can lose any thing by the progress of the soul. The soul may be trusted to the end.

The true poem is the poet's mind.

There is a good ear, in some men, that draws supplies to virtue out of very indifferent nutriment.