Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is like a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue. . . .

Let us answer a book of ink with a book of flesh and blood.

Society has really no graver interest than the well-being of the literary class.

The secret of the world is the tie between person and event. Person makes event and event person.

So in accepting the leading of the sentiments, it is not what we believe concerning the immortality of the soul, or the like, but the universal impulse to believe, that is the material circumstance, and is the principal fact in this history of the globe.

Never self-possessed, or prudent, love is all abandonment.

Character repudiates intellect, yet excites it; and character passes into thought, is published so, and then is ashamed before newflashes of moral worth.