"Love is not altogether a Delirium," says he elsewhere; "yet has it many points in common therewith."

Give us, O give us the man who sings at his work! Be his occupation what it may, he is equal to any of those who follow the same pursuit in silent sullenness. He will do more in the same time . . . he will do it better . . . he will persevere longer. One is scarcely sensible to fatigue while he marches to music. The very stars are said to make harmony as they revolve in their spheres.

Thought, true labor of any kind, highest virtue itself, is it not the daughter of Pain?

If a book comes from the heart, it will contrive to reach other hearts; all art and author-craft are of small amount to that.

Professors of the Dismal Science, I perceive the length of your tether is now pretty well run; and I must request you to talk a little lower in the future.

No pressure, no diamonds.

Laughter is one of the very privileges of reason, being confined to the human species.