The More Sparingly We Make Use Of

A Religion, That Is, A True Religion, Must Consist Of Ideas And Facts Both; Not Of Ideas Alone Without Facts, For Then It Would Be Mere Philosophy; - Nor Of Facts Alone Without Ideas, Of Which Those Facts Are Symbols, Or Out Of Which They Arise, Or Upon Which They Are Grounded: For Then It Would Be Mere History.

Ignorance Seldom Vaults Into Knowledge, But Passes Into It Through An Intermediate State Of Obscurity, Even As Night Into Day Through Twilight.

There Are Three Classes Into Which All The Women Past Seventy That Ever I Knew Were To Be Divided: 1. That Dear Old Soul; 2. That Old Woman; 3. That Old Witch.

The Poet, Described In Ideal Perfection, Brings The Whole Soul Of Man Into Activity, With The Subordination Of Its Faculties To Each Other According To Their Relative Worth And Dignity. He Diffuses A Tone And Spirit Of Unity, That Blends, And (as It Were) Fuses , Each Into Each, By That Synthetic And Magical Power, To Which I Would Exclusively Appropriate The Name Of Imagination.

Nothing Great Was Ever Achieved Without Enthusiasm. For What Is Enthusiasm But The Oblivion And Swallowing-up Of Self In An Object Dearer Than Self?