I Hate The Prostitution Of The Name

The Secret Of Poetry Is Never Explained,— Is Always New. We Have Not Got Farther Than Mere Wonder At The Delicacy Of The Touch, And The Eternity It Inherits. In Every House A Child That In Mere Play Utters Oracles, And Knows Not That They Are Such. 't Is As Easy As Breath. 't Is Like This Gravity, Which Holds The Universe Together, And None Knows What It Is.

Life Is A Series Of Surprises And Would Not Be Worth Taking Or Keeping If It Were Not.

If I Am The Devil's Child, I Will Live Then, By The Devil.

Our Reliance On The Physician Is A Kind Of Despair Of Ourselves.

Love Should Make Joy; But Our Benevolence Is Unhappy. Our Sunday-schools, And Churches, And Pauper-societies Are Yokes To The Neck. We Pain Ourselves To Please Nobody.