My Evening Visitors, If They Cannot See

A Man Should Learn To Detect And Watch That Gleam Of Light Which Flashes Across His Mind From Within, More Than The Lustre Of The Firmament Of Bards And Sages. Yet He Dismisses Without Notice His Thought, Because It Is His. In Every Work Of Genius We Recognize Our Own Rejected Thoughts: They Come Back To Us With A Certain Alienated Majesty.

How Many Attractions For Us Have Our Passing Fellows In The Streets, Both Male And Female, Which Our Ethics Forbid Us To Express, Which Yet Infuse So Much Pleasure Into Life. A Lovely Child, A Handsome Youth, A Beautiful Girl, A Heroic Man, A Maternal Woman, A Venerable Old Man, Charm Us, Though Strangers, And We Cannot Say So, Or Look At Them But For A Moment.

A Beautiful Person Among The Greeks, Was Thought To Betray By This Sign Some Secret Favor Of The Immortal Gods; And We Can Pardonpride, When A Woman Possesses Such A Figure That Wherever She Stands, Or Moves, Or Leaves A Shadow On The Wall, Or Sits For A Portrait To The Artist, She Confers A Favor On The World.

...man Is An Analogist, And Studies Relations In All Objects. He Is Placed In The Center Of Beings, And A Ray Of Relation Passes From Every Other Being To Him. And Neither Can Man Be Understood Without These Objects, Nor These Objects Without Man.

A Friend Is A Person With Whom I May Be Sincere. Before Him I May Think Aloud.