If eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being.

The beautiful rests on the foundations of the necessary.

Things are pretty, graceful, rich, elegant, handsome, but, until they speak to the imagination, not yet beautiful.

We fly to Beauty as an asylum from the terrors of finite nature.

The great majority of men are bundles of beginnings.

Books take their place according to their specific gravity as surely as potatoes in a tub.

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.

We are too civil to books. For a few golden sentences we will turn over and actually read a volume of four or five hundred pages.

What can we see, read, acquire, but ourselves. Take the book, my friend, and read your eyes out, you will never find there what 1 find.

Each man reserves to himself alone the right of being tedious.