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There is a tendency for things to right themselves.
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All mankind love a lover.
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'Tis the good reader that makes the good book; in every book he finds passages which seem confidences or asides hidden from all else and unmistakenly meant for his ear.
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When we quarrel, how we wish we had been blameless.
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It is one of the beautiful compensations in this life that no one can sincerely try to help another without helping himself.
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Why need I volumes, if one word suffice?
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He who is not everyday conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.
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There is an optical illusion about every person we meet.
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I find the Englishman to be him of all men who stands firmest in his shoes. They have in themselves what they value in their horses, - mettle and bottom.
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Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.
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I hung my verse in the wind Time and tide their faults will find.
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I should as soon think of swimming across Charles River when I wish to go to Boston, as of reading all my books in originals when I have them rendered for me in my mother tongue.
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Good bye, proud world! I'm going home; Thou art not my friend; I am not thine.
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Who hears me, who understands me, becomes mine, a possession for all time.
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For it is not metres, but a metre-making argument, that makes a poem, - a thought so passionate and alive, that, like the spirit of a plant or an animal, it has an architecture of its own, and adorns nature with a new thing.
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Heroism feels and never reasons and therefore is always right.
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People seem not to see that their opinion of the world is also a confession of character.
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Nature and books belong to the eyes that see them.
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Fine manners need the support of fine manners in others.
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We do not yet possess ourselves, and we know at the same time that we are much more.
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The sum of wisdom is that time is never lost that is devoted to work.
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Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought.
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Every particular in nature, a leaf, a drop, a crystal, a moment of time is related to the whole, and partakes of the perfection of the whole.
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It may be a question whether machinery does not encumber; whether we have not lost by refinement some energy, by a Christianity entrenched in establishments and forms, some vigor of wild virtue. For every Stoic was a Stoic; but in Christendom where is the Christian?