Men as yet need some help to their imagination. There remains still…

Whatever an author puts between the two covers of his book is public property; whatever of himself he does not put there is his private property, as much as if he had never written a word.

Every person is responsible for all the good within the scope of his abilities, and for no more,—and none can tell whose sphere is the largest.

It is the crushed grape that gives out the blood-red wine. It is the suffering soul that breathes the sweetest melodies.

Christ made no distinction, but opened the door wide to woman as to man.

Love me, and tell me so sometimes.

Genius is expansive, irresistible, and irresistibly expansive. If it is in you, no cords can confine it.