For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet? - Ralph Waldo Emerson

We think our civilization near its meridian, but we are yet only at the cock-crowing and the morning star. In our barbarous society the influence of character is in its infancy. As a political power, as the rightful lord who is to tumble all rulers from their chairs, its presence is hardly yet suspected

The etymologist finds the deadest words to have been once a brilliant picture. Language is fossil poetry.

He thought it happier to be dead, To die for Beauty, than live for bread.