When half-gods go The gods arrive.
The worst of charity is that the lives you are asked to preserve are not worth preserving.
Immortality. I notice that as soon as writers broach this question they begin to quote. I hate quotation. Tell me what you know.
The borrowing is often honest enough, and comes of magnanimity and stoutness. A great man quotes bravely and will not draw on his invention when his memory serves him with a word as good.
Most of the classical citations you shall hear or read in the current journals or speeches were not drawn from the originals, but from previous quotations in English books.
All minds quote. Old and new make the warp and woof of every moment. There is no thread that is not a twist of these two strands. By necessity, by proclivity, and by delight, we all quote. We quote not only books and proverbs, but arts, sciences, religion, customs, and laws; nay, we quote temples and houses, tables and chairs, by imitation.
Good as is discourse, silence is better and shames it.
Look out into the July night, and see the broad belt of silver flame which flashes up the half of heaven, fresh and delicate as the bonfires of the meadow-flies. Yet the powers of numbers cannot compute its enormous age,—lasting as space and time,—embosomed in time and space.
God is our name for the last generalization to which we can arrive.
I am a part and parcel of God.
Let him be great, and love shall follow him.
Genius seems to consist merely in trueness of sight, in using such words as show that the man was an eye-witness, and not a repeater of what was told.
The young man reveres men of genius, because, to speak truly, they are more himself than he is.
Good nature is stronger than tomahawks.
The hero is suffered to be himself.
There is no history; only biography.
In a tavern everybody puts on airs except the landlord.
Persons are fine things, but they cost so much! for thee I must pay me.
Every roof is agreeable to the eye, until it is lifted; then we find tragedy and moaning women, and hard-eyed husbands.
Let a man behave in his own house as a guest.
Heaven is large, and affords space for all modes of love and fortitude.
Overhead the sanctities of the stars shine forever-more... pouring satire on the pompous business of the day which they close, and making the generations of men show slight and evanescent.
The reason of idleness and of crime is the deferring of our hopes.
Happy the man who never puts on a face, but receives every visitor with that countenance he has on.
Poetry makes its own pertinence, and a single stanza outweighs a book of prose.
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