At times it has been doubtful to me if Emerson really knows or feels what Poetry is at its highest, as in the Bible, for instance, or Homer or Shakspeare. I see he covertly or plainly likes best superb verbal polish, or something old or odd

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

Pointing to another world will never stop vice among us; shedding light over this world can alone help us.

To the real artist in humanity, what are called bad manners are often the most picturesque and significant of all.

The words of my book nothing, the drift of it everything.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

When he whom I love travels with me or sits a long while holding me by the hand, … Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom, I am silent, I require nothing further, I cannot answer the question of appearances or that of identity beyond the grave, But I walk or sit indifferent, I am satisfied, He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me.