ion. We will then sit down serenely to live, as by the side of a stove.
When I sit in earnest, nothing must stand. All must be sedentary with me.
I hear the faint sound of a viol and voices from the neighboring cottage, and think to myself, I will believe the muse only forevermore. It assures me that no gleam which comes over the serene soul is deceptive. It warns me of a reality and substance of which the best that I see is but the phantom and shadow. O Music, thou tellest me of things of which memory takes no heed; thy strains are whispered aside from memory s ear. . . . Thou openest all my senses to catch the least hint, and givest me no thought. It would be good to sit at my door of summer evenings forever, and hear thy strains. Thou makest me to toy with speech, or walk content without it. . . . I am pleased to think how ignorant and shiftless the wisest are.
My imperfect sympathies with my friend are a cheerful, glimmering light in the valley.
Feb. 20, 1842. I never yet saw two men sufficiently great to meet as two. In proportion as they are great, the differences are fatal, because they are felt not to be partial, but total. Frankness to him who is unlike me will lead to the utter denial of him. . . . When two approach to meet, they incur no petty dangers;
