Even Imperfection Itself May Have Its Ideal

Out Of The Ruined Lodge And Forgotten Mansion, Bowers That Are Trodden Under Foot, And Pleasure-houses That Are Dust, The Poet Calls Up A Palingenesis.

There Is First The Literature Of Knowledge, And Secondly, The Literature Of Power. The Function Of The First Is -- To Teach; The Function Of The Second Is -- To Move.

I Feel That There Is No Such Thing As Ultimate Forgetting; Traces Once Impressed Upon The Memory Are Indestructible.

Many A Man Has Risen To Eminence Under The Powerful Reaction Of His Mind In Fierce Counter-agency To The Scorn Of The Unworthy, Daily Evoked By His Personal Defects, Who With A Handsome Person Would Have Sunk Into The Luxury Of A Careless Life Under The Tranquillizing Smiles Of Continual Admiration.

Far Better, And More Cheerfully, I Could Dispense With Some Part Of The Downright Necessaries Of Life, Than With Certain Circumstances Of Elegance And Propriety In The Daily Habits Of Using Them.