I find purer philosophy in a Poem than in a Conclusion of Geometry, a chemical analysis, or a physical law.

She is elegant rather than belle.

A Poem does not grow by jerks. As trees in Spring produce a new ring of tissue, so does every poet put forth a fresh outlay of stuff at the same season.

The war effects me less than it ought. I can do no service to anybody by agitating for news or making dole over the slaughter.

I don't ask myself, is the life congenial to me? But, am I fitted for, am I called to, the Ministry?

I am only conscious of any satisfaction in Scientific Reading or thinking when it rounds off into a poetical generality and vagueness.