Hardened round us, encasing wholly every notion we form, is a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words.

With stupidity and sound digestion man may front much.

Speech is too often not the art of concealing thought, but of quite stifling and suspending thought, so that there is none to conceal.

I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first characteristic of all men in any way heroic.

Speech is of time, silence is of eternity.

The fearful Unbelief is unbelief in yourself.

The ideal is in thyself, the impediment too is in thyself.

Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of very May; but at length the season of summer does come.

Wise poets that wrapt Truth in tales, / Knew her themselves through all her veils.

How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they?