The Life Of The Soul Is Incalculable.

How Many Persons Must There Be Who Cannot Worship Alone Since They Are Content With So Little.

I Stand In The Sunny Noon Of Life. Objects No Longer Glitter In The Dews Of Morning, Neither Are Yet Softened By The Shadows Of Evening.

Art Can Only Be Truly Art By Presenting An Adequate Outward Symbol Of Some Fact In The Interior Life.

While Any One Is Base, None Can Be Entirely Free And Noble.

The Use Of Criticism, In Periodical Writing, Is To Sift, Not To Stamp A Work.