A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. A solemn consideration, when I enter a great city by night, that every one of those darkly clustered houses encloses its own secret; that every room in every one of them encloses its own secret; that every beating heart in the hundreds of thousands of breasts there, is, in some of its imaginings, a secret to the heart nearest it!

Each generation writes off earlier errors as the result of bad thinking, of less able minds--and then confidently embarks on making fresh errors of its own.

How does the poet transform his banal thoughts (are not most thoughts banal?) into such stunning forms, into beauty?

Philanthropic people lose all sense of Humanity, it is their distinguishing characteristic.

From timber so crooked as that from which man is carved, nothing entirely straight can be made.

Loneliness is a strange gift.

No soul is desolate as long as there is a human being for whom it can feel trust and reverence.

[Optimism is] the obstinacy of maintaining that everything is best when it is worst.

The tallest blade of grass is the first to be cut by the scythe.

And then, the unspeakable purity and freshness of the air! There was just enough heat to enhance the value of the breeze, and just enough wind to keep the whole sea in motion, to make the waves come bounding to the shore, foaming and sparkling, as if wild with glee.