The poetical impression of any object is that uneasy, exquisite sense of beauty or power that cannot be contained within itself; that is impatient of all limit; that (as flame bends to flame) strives to link itself to some other image of kindred beauty or grandeur; to enshrine itself, as it were, in the highest forms of fancy, and to relieve the aching sense of pleasure by expressing it in the boldest manner.

When one can do better than everyone else in the same walk, one does not make any very painful exertions to outdo oneself. The progress of improvement ceases nearly at the point where competition ends.

The seat of knowledge is in the head; of wisdom, in the heart. We are sure to judge wrong, if we do not feel right.

Talent is the capacity of doing anything that depends on application and industry and it is a voluntary power, while genius is involuntary.

Death puts an end to rivalship and competition. The dead can boast no advantage over us, nor can we triumph over them.

Poverty, when it is voluntary, is never despicable, but takes an heroical aspect.

Almost every sect of Christianity is a perversion of its essence, to accommodate it to the prejudices of the world.