I Come More And More To The

A Teacher Who Can Arouse A Feeling For One Single Good Action, For One Single Good Poem, Accomplishes More Than He Who Fills Our Memory With Rows And Rows Of Natural Objects, Classified With Name And Form.

If A Man Writes A Book, Let Him Set Down Only What He Knows. I Have Guesses Enough Of My Own.

I Am The Spirit That Denies.

After Fifteen Minutes Nobody Looks At A Rainbow.

Thou Tremblest Before Anticipated Ills, And Still Bemoanest What Thou Never Losest.