You Think Me The Child Of Circumstance;

I Am The Owner Of The Sphere, Of The Seven Stars And The Solar Year, Of Caesar's Hand, And Plato's Brain, Of Lord Christ's Heart, And Shakespeare's Strain.

The Only True Gifts Are A Portion Of Yourself.

I Ought To Go Upright And Vital, And Speak The Rude Truth In All Ways.

The Soul Answers Never By Words, But By The Thing Itself That Is Inquired After.

Neither Is A Dictionary A Bad Book To Read. There Is No Can't In It, No Excess Of Explanation, And It Is Full Of Suggestion, The Raw Material Of Possible Poems And Histories.