Essays, entitled critical, are epistles addressed to the public, through which the mind of the recluse relieves itself of its impressions.
Man can never come up to his ideal standard. It is the nature of the immortal spirit to raise that standard higher and higher as it goes from strength to strength, still upward and onward. The wisest and greatest men are ever the most modest.
I should never stand alone in this desert world, but that manna would drop from heaven, if I would but rise with every rising sun to gather it.
The Greeks saw everything in forms which we are trying to ascertain as law, and classify as cause.
There are noble books but one wants the breath of life sometimes. And I see no divine person. I myself am more divine than any I see I think that is enough to say about them...
Put up at the moment of greatest suffering a prayer, not for thy own escape, but for the enfranchisement of some being dear to thee, and the sovereign spirit will accept thy ransom.
All great expression, which on a superficial survey seems so easy as well as so simple, furnishes after a while, to the faithful observer, its own standard by which to appreciate it.
Our desires, once realized, haunt us again less readily.
I know of no inquiry which the impulses of man suggests that is forbidden to the resolution of man to pursue.
But the golden-rod is one of the fairy, magical flowers; it grows not up to seek human love amid the light of day, but to mark to the discerning what wealth lies hid in the secret caves of earth.
I now know all the people worth knowing in America, and I find no intellect comparable to my own.
No temple can still the personal griefs and strifes in the breasts of its visitors.
Truth is the nursing mother of genius. No man can be absolutely true to himself, eschewing cant, compromise, servile imitation, and complaisance without becoming original.
In order that she may be able to give her hand with dignity, she must be able to stand alone.
It seems that it is madder never to abandon one’s self than often to be infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive and a slave, than always to walk in armor.
We need to hear the excuses men make to themselves for their worthlessness.
Be what you would seem to be – or, if you’d like it put more simply – a house is no home unless it contains food and fire for the mind as well as the body.
Our capacities, our instincts for this our present sphere are but half developed. Let us be completely natural; before we trouble ourselves with the supernatural.
Artists are always young.
I find no intellect comparable to my own.
How many persons must there be who cannot worship alone since they are content with so little.