The poet is a man who lives at last by watching his moods. An old poet comes at last to watch his moods as narrowly as a cat does a mouse.

A broad margin of leisure is as beautiful in a man's life as in a book.

"We seem but to linger in manhood to tell the dreams of our childhood, and they vanish out of memory ere we learn the language."

"The man who does not betake himself at once and desperately to sawing is called a loafer, though he may be knocking at the doors of heaven all the while."

"What men call social virtues, good fellowship, is commonly but the virtue of pigs in a litter, which lie close together to keep each other warm."