We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten.

The gates of thought, - how slow and late they discover themselves! Yet when they appear, we see that they were always there, always open.

Milton says, that the lyric poet may drink wine and live generously, but the epic poet, he who shall sing of the gods, and their descent unto men, must drink water out of a wooden bowl. For poetry is not "Devil's wine," but God's wine.

We are disgusted by gossip; yet it is of importance to keep the angels in their proprieties.

Who shall forbid a wise skepticism, seeing that there is no practical question on which anything more than an approximate solution can be had?

Of lower states, of acts of routine and sense, we can tell somewhat; but the masterpieces of God, the total growths and universalmovements of the soul, he hideth; they are incalculable. I can know that truth is divine and helpful; but how it shall help me I can have no guess, for so to be is the sole inlet of so to know.

Every revolution was first a thought in one man's mind.