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.

Nature, after all, is still the grand agent in making poets.

Silence is as deep as eternity, speech a shallow as time.

A stammering man is never a worthless one. Physiology can tell you why. It is an excess of sensibility to the presence of his fellow creature, that makes him stammer.

Speech is too often not the art of concealing thought, but of quite stifling and suspending thought, so that there is none to conceal.

He who cannot withal keep his mind to himself cannot practice any considerable thing whatsoever.

There is a majesty and mystery in nature, take her as you will. The essence of poetry comes breathing to a mind that feels from every province of her empire.