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I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.

I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active – not more happy – nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.

There are few cases in which mere popularity should be considered a proper test of merit; but the case of song-writing is, I think, one of the few.

Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.

All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.

They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.

Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.

There is an eloquence in true enthusiasm.