He Thought It Happier To

Every Man Is An Infinitely Repelling Orb, And Holds His Individual Being On That Condition.

Infancy Conforms To Nobody; All Conform To It.

Moral Qualities Rule The World, But At Short Distances The Senses Are Despotic.

The Good Writer Seems To Be Writing About Himself, But Has His Eye Always On That Thread Of The Universe Which Runs Through Himself And All Things.

I Do Then With My Friends As I Do With My Books. I Would Have Them Where I Can Find Them, But I Seldom Use Them.