Commonsense Is The Wick Of The Candle.

Only The Great Generalizations Survive. The Sharp Words Of The Declaration Of Independence, Lampooned Then And Since As 'glittering Generalities,' Have Turned Out Blazing Ubiquities That Will Burn Forever And Ever.

The Poet's Habit Of Living Should Be Set On A Key So Low That The Common Influences Should Delight Him.

I Wish The Days To Be As Centuries, Loaded, Fragrant. Now We Reckon Them As Bank-days, By Some Debt Which Is To Be Paid Us, Or Which We Are To Pay, Or Some Pleasure We Are To Taste.

The Poor Are Only They Who Feel Poor.

We Judge Of A Man's Wisdom By His Hope, Knowing That The Inexhaustibleness Of Nature Is An Immortal Youth.