Mind Is A Light Which The Gods

The Interpretations Of Science Do Not Give Us This Intimate Sense Of Objects As The Interpretations Of Poetry Give It; They Appeal To A Limited Faculty, And Not To The Whole Man. It Is Not Linnaeus Or Cavendish Or Cuvier Who Gives Us The True Sense Of Animals, Or Water, Or Plants, Who Seizes Their Secret For Us, Who Makes Us Participate In Their Life; It Is Shakspeare [sic] … Wordsworth … Keats … Chateaubriand … Senancour.

Not A Having And A Resting, But A Growing And A Becoming, Is The Character Of Perfection As Culture Conceives It.

Truth Sits Upon The Lips Of Dying Men, And Falsehood, While I Lived, Was Far From Mine.

Calm's Not Life's Crown, Though Calm Is Well.

The Freethinking Of One Age Is The Common Sense Of The Next.