Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me the sunlight expands my blood? Why when they leave me do my pennants of joy sink flat and lank?

I say no body of men are fit to make Presidents, judges and generals, unless they themselves supply the best specimens of the same; and that supplying one or two such specimens illuminates the whole body for a thousand years.

I dance with the dancers.

O public road, I say back I am not afraid to leave you, yet I love you, you express me better than I can express myself.

There will never be any more perfection than there is now.

Why are there trees I never walk under but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me?

Books are to be called for and supplied on the assumption that the process of reading is not a half-sleep, but in the highest sense an exercise, a gymnastic struggle; that the reader is to do something for himself.