There is never a beginning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable continuity of this web of God, but always circular power returning into itself.

I hear therefore with joy whatever is beginning to be said of the dignity and necessity of labor to every citizen. There is virtue yet in the hoe and the spade, for learned as well as for unlearned hands. And labor is everywhere welcome; always we are invited to work; only be this limitation observed, that a man shall not for the sake of wider activity sacrifice any opinion to the popular judgments and modes of action.

Every word was once a poem. Every new relation is a new word.

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

Why need I volumes, if one word suffice?

Let a man behave in his own house as a guest.

Bare lists of words are found suggestive to an imaginative and excited mind.