To Every Man It Is

The Truths Of Life Are Not Discovered By Us. At Moments Unforeseen, Some Gracious Influence Descends Upon The Soul, Touching It To An Emotion Which, We Know Not How, The Mind Transmutes Into Thought.

To Like Keats Is A Test Of Fitness For Understanding Poetry, Just As To Like Shakespeare Is A Test Of General Mental Capacity.

It Is Because Nations Tend Towards Stupidity And Baseness That Mankind Moves So Slowly; It Is Because Individuals Have A Capacity For Better Things That It Moves At All.

I Have The Happiness Of A Passing Moment, And What More Can Mortal Ask?

The Mind Which Renounces, Once And For Ever, A Futile Hope, Has Its Compensation In Ever-growing Calm.