Long years must pass before the truths we have made for ourselves become our very flesh.

We are enriched by our reciprocate differences.

In poetry everything which must be said is almost impossible to say well.

Our judgments judge us, and nothing reveals us, exposes our weaknesses, more ingeniously than the attitude of pronouncing upon our fellows.

The universe is built on a plan the profound symmetry of which is somehow present in the inner structure of our intellect.

We must be our own before we can be another's.