These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world.
Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of every one of its members. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs. He who would gather immortal palms must not be hindered by the name of goodness, but must explore if it be goodness.
Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense; for the inmost in due time becomes the outmost,--and our first thought, is rendered back to us by the trumpets of the Last Judgment.
Familiar as the voice of the mind is to each, the highest merit we ascribe to Moses, Plato, and Milton is, that they set at naught books and traditions, and spoke not what men but what they thought.
I read the other day some verses written by an eminent painter which were original and not conventional.
The soul always hears an admonition in such lines, let the subject be what it may.
"Man is his own star; and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate; Nothing to him falls early or too late.
Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." Epilogue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Honest Man's Fortune Cast the bantling on the rocks, Suckle him with the she-wolf's teat" Wintered with the hawk and fox, Power and speed be hands and feet.
The eye was placed where one ray should fall, that it might testify of that particular ray.
We but half express ourselves, and are ashamed of that divine idea which each of us represents.