One life; a little gleam of Time between two Eternities; no second chance to us for evermore!

We have our little theory on all human and divine things. Poetry, the workings of genius itself, which, in all times, with one or another meaning, has been called Inspiration, and held to be mysterious and inscrutable, is no longer without its scientific exposition. The building of the lofty rhyme is like any other masonry or bricklaying: we have theories of its rise, height, decline and fall -- which latter, it would seem, is now near, among all people.

Thou fool! Nature alone is antique, and the oldest art a mushroom; that idle crag thou sittest on is six thousand years of age.

Youth is to all the glad season of life; but often only by what it hopes, not by what it attains, or what it escapes.

There is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works: in Idleness alone is there perpetual despair.

A noble book! all men's book!

Thirty millions, mostly fools.