Great souls are always loyally submissive, reverent to what is over them: only small mean souls are otherwise.

The leafy blossoming present time springs from the whole past, remembered and unrememberable.

There are female dandies as well as clothes-wearing men; and the former are as objectionable as the latter.

To the mean eye all things are trivial, as certainly as to the jaundiced they are yellow.

Are not our greatest men as good as lost? The men that walk daily among us, warming us, feeding us, walk shrouded in darkness, mere mythic men.

Every new opinion, at its starting, is precisely in a minority of one.

What are your Axioms, and Categories, and Systems, and Aphorisms? Words, words.... Be not the slave of Words.