Sublime

He brings, not something which is more poetic than realism, not something which is more spiritual than realism, not something which is more right than realism, but something which is more real than realism.

As seen by his neighbours, he is as safe as if immured in a fortress; but as seen by himself he may be forever careering through the sky or crashing towards the earth in a flying–ship.

What does Miss Pankhurst imagine a “rule” is—a sort of basilisk?

Modern people do not understand him because they do not understand the difference between exaggerating a truth and exaggerating a lie. He did exaggerate, but what he knew, not what he did not know.

Men are very much too ready to speak of men’s work being ordinary, when we consider that, properly considered, every man is extraordinary.

What is socially humdrum is produced by what is individually heroic; and a city is made not merely of citizens but knight–errants.

The majority of men are poets, only they happen to be bad poets.

For the glory of this world is a very small and priggish affair, and these men are too large to get in line with it.

To me the post is wonderful because it is there; there whether I like it or not.