Camden was originally an accident, but I shall never be sorry I was left over in Camden. It has brought me blessed returns.

Some people are so much sunshine to the square inch.

I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness to moral beauty.

Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am, Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary, Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest, Looking with side-curved head curious what will come next, Both in and out of the game and watching and wondering at it.