O thou that pinest in the imprisonment of the Actual, and criest bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and create, know this for a truth: the thing thou seekest is already here, "here or nowhere," couldst thou only see.

Rightly viewed no meanest object is insignificant; all objects are as windows through which the philosophic eye looks into infinitude itself.

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.

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

But the whim we have of happiness is somewhat thus. By certain valuations, and averages, of our own striking, we come upon some sort of average terrestrial lot; this we fancy belongs to us by nature, and of indefeasible rights. It is simple payment of our wages, of our deserts; requires neither thanks nor complaint. Foolish soul! What act of legislature was there that thou shouldst be happy? A little while ago thou hadst no right to be at all.

Little other than a red tape Talking-machine, and unhappy Bag of Parliamentary Eloquence.

The past is all holy to us; the dead are all holy; even they that were wicked when alive.