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

The invariable mark of wisdom is to see the miraculous in the common.

In all things I would have the island of a man inviolate. Let us sit apart as the gods, talking from peak to peak all round Olympus. No degree of affection need invade this religion.

There is a tendency in things to right themselves, and the war or revolution or bankruptcy that shatters rotten system, allows things to take a new and natural order.

There are as many pillows of illusion as flakes in a snow-storm. We wake from one dream into another dream.

All my hurts my garden spade can heal.

So in writing, there is always a right word, and every other than that is wrong. There is no beauty in words except in their collocation. The effect of a fanciful word misplaced, is like that of a horn of exquisite polish growing on a human head.