“For poetry is the blossom and the fragrance of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language.”

He who is best prepared can best serve his moment of inspiration.

Some men are like musical glasses; to produce their finest tones you must keep them wet.

What if you slept? And what if, in your sleep, you went to heaven and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower? And what if,when you awoke,you had the flower in your hand? Ah, what then?

Imagination is the living power and prime agent of all human perception.

The age seems sore from excess of stimulation, just as a day or two after a thorough Debauch and long sustained Drinking-match a man feels all over like a Bruise.

As a man without forethought scarcely deserves the name of a man, so forethought without reflection is but a metaphorical phrase for the instinct of a beast.

Genius is the power of carrying the feelings of childhood into the powers of manhood.

The faults of great authors are generally excellences carried to an excess.

I have often thought what a melancholy world this would be without children, and what an inhuman world without the aged.

You see how this House of Commons has begun to verify all the ill prophecies that were made of it – low, vulgar, meddling with everything, assuming universal competency, and flattering every base passion – and sneering at everything noble refined and truly national.

My eyes make pictures when they are shut.

Of no agenor of any religion, or party or profession. The body and substance of his works came out of the unfathomable depths of his own oceanic mind.

Blest hour! It was a luxury–to be!

The primary imagination I hold to be the living power and prime agent of all human perception, and as a repetition in the finite mind of the eternal act of creation in the infinite I Am.

There is one art of which people should be masters – the art of reflection.

Milton has carefully marked in his Satan the intense selfishness, the alcohol of egotism, which would rather reign in hell than serve in heaven.

The blossom cannot tell what becomes of its odor, and no person can tell what becomes of his or her influence and example.

Gray hairs are death’s blossoms.

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.

Spill yourself onto the page with ink and a half healed heart and watch the words blossom.

He who lives only unto himself withers and dies, while he who forgets himself in the service of others grows and blossoms.

You deflowered me. Still I blossomed.

Flowers fall down to blossom new, so do you!

People think that their world will get smaller as they get older. My experience is just the opposite. Your senses become more acute. You start to blossom.