Do not you see that every misfortune is misconduct; that every honour is desert; that every effort is an insolence of your own?...You carry your fortune in your own hand.

Dreams have a poetic integrity and truth. This limbo and dust-hole of thought is presided over by a certain reason, too.

We are adapted to infinity. We are hard to please, and love nothing which ends: and in nature is no end; but every thing, at the end of one use, is lifted into a superior, and the ascent of these things climbs into daemonic and celestial natures.

We write from aspiration and antagonism, as well as from experience. We paint those qualities which we do not posses.

If you want to be great and successful, choose people who are great and successful and walk side by side with them.

All infractions of love and equity in our social relations are ... punished by fear.

Life wastes itself whilst we are preparing to live.