Each truth that a writer acquires is a lantern, which he turns full on what facts and thoughts lay already in his mind, and behold, all the mats and rubbish which had littered his garret become precious. Every trivial fact in his private biography becomes an illustration of this new principle, revisits the day, and delights all men by its piquancy and new charm.

Who leaves the pine-tree, leaves his friend, Unnerves his strength, invites his end.

For a great nature, it is a happiness to escape a religious training; religion of character is so apt to be invaded.

But your isolation must not be mechanical, but spiritual, that is, must be elevation.

There are moods in which we court suffering, in the hope that here, at least, we shall find reality, sharp peaks and edges of truth. But it turns out to be scene-painting and counterfeit. The only thing grief has taught me is to know how shallow it is.

The world is emblematic. Parts of speech are metaphors, because the whole of nature is a metaphor of the human mind.

The essence of all jokes, of all comedy, seems to be an honest or well intended halfness; a non performance of that which is pretended to be performed, at the same time that one is giving loud pledges of performance. The balking of the intellect, is comedy and it announces itself in the pleasant spasms we call laughter.