I Strove With None; For None Was

A True Philosopher Is Beyond The Reach Of Fortune.

I Hate False Words, And Seek With Care, Difficulty, And Moroseness, Those That Fit The Thing.

The Sweetest Souls, Like The Sweetest Flowers, Soon Canker In Cities, And No Purity Is Rarer There Than The Purity Of Delight.

The Sublime Is Contained In A Grain Of Dust.

An Ingenious Mind Feels In Unmerited Praise The Bitterest Reproof.