Ignorance and bungling with love are better than wisdom and skill without.
Those whom we can love, we can hate to others we are indifferent.
May we so love as never to have occasion to repent of our love!
Enemies publish themselves. They declare war. The friend never declares his love.
Is it the lumberman, then, who is the friend and lover of the pine, stands nearest to it, and understands its nature best? Is it the tanner who has barked it, or he who has boxed it for turpentine, whom posterity will fable to have been changed into a pine at last? No! no! it is the poet: he it is who makes the truest use of the pine-who does not fondle it with an axe, nor tickle it with a saw, nor stroke it with a plane.
A farmer, a hunter, a soldier, a reporter, even a philosopher, may be daunted; but nothing can deter a poet, for he is actuated by pure love. Who can predict his comings and goings? His business calls him out at all hours, even when doctors sleep.
The purity men love is like the mists which envelope the earth, and not like the azure ether beyond.
I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of time. To be in company, even with the best, is soon wearisome and dissipating. I love to be alone, I never found the companionable as solitude.
Men profess to be lovers of music, but for the most part they give no evidence of it in their opinions and lives that they have heard it. It would not leave them narrow-minded and bigoted.
Do what you love. Know your own bone; gnaw at it, bury it, unearth it, and gnaw it still.
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