The Senses Interfere Everywhere, And Mix Their

Always Maintain Your Common Sense And Artful Skills, And Funnel It All Into Plain Enough Dealings.

Every Man Is A Divinity In Disguise, A God Playing The Fool.

Colleges Hate Geniuses, Just As Convents Hate Saints.

Great Believers Are Always Reckoned Infidels, Impracticable, Fantastic, Atheistic, And Really Men Of No Account. The Spiritualist Finds Himself Driven To Express His Faith By A Series Of Skepticisms.

One More Royal Trait Properly Belongs To The Poet. I Mean His Cheerfulness, Without Which No Man Can Be A Poet,--for Beauty Is His Aim. He Loves Virtue, Not For Its Obligation, But For Its Grace; He Delights In The World, In Man, In Woman, For The Lovely Light That Sparkles From Them. Beauty, The Spirit Of Joy And Hilarity, He Sheds Over The Universe.