Tomorrow Is A New Day. You Shall

In These Divine Pleasures Permitted To Me Of Walks In The June Night Under Moon And Stars, I Can Put My Life As A Fact Before Me And Stand Aloof From Its Honor And Shame.

An Artist Spends Himself Like The Crayon In His Hand, Till He Is All Gone.

An Imaginative Book Renders Us Much More Service At First, By Stimulating Us Through Its Tropes, Than Afterward, When We Arrive Atthe Precise Sense Of The Author. I Think Nothing Is Of Any Value In Books, Excepting The Transcendental And Extraordinary.

Philanthropies And Charities Have A Certain Air Of Quackery.

The Idea Of God Ends In A Paltry Methodist Meeting-house.