For Every Grain Of Wit There Is

And Truly It Demands Something Godlike In Him Who Cast Off The Common Motives Of Humanity And Ventured To Trust Himself For A Taskmaster.

Pines A Thousand Years Old. Every Year They Must Go Farther For Them: They Recede, Like Beavers And Indians, Before The White Man.

It Depends Little On The Object, Much On The Mood, In Art.

What I Must Do Is All That Concerns Me, Not What The People Think.

The Reverence For The Deeds Of Our Ancestors Is A Treacherous Sentiment. Their Merit Was Not To Reverence The Old, But To Honor The Present Moment; And We Falsely Make Them Excuses Of The Very Habit Which They Hated And Defied.