Date: 1851

"For the more one reads the fewer are the traces left of what one has read; the mind is like a tablet that has been written over and over."

— Schopenhauer, Arthur (1788-1860)

Date: 1851

"Indeed, it is the same with mental as with bodily food: scarcely the fifth part of what a man takes is assimilated; the remainder passes off in evaporation, respiration, and the like."

— Schopenhauer, Arthur (1788-1860)

Date: 1851

"The largest library in disorder is not so useful as a smaller but orderly one; in the same way the greatest amount of knowledge, if it has not been worked out in one’s own mind, is of less value than a much smaller amount that has been fully considered."

— Schopenhauer, Arthur (1788-1860)

Date: 1851

"Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it...

— Melville, Herman (1819-1891)

Date: March 17, 1852

"I make the truest observations and distinctions then, when the will is yet wholly asleep and the mind works like a machine without friction."

— Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)

Date: 1852

"Give me thy hand, and hush awhile, / And turn those limpid eyes on mine, / And let me read there, love! thy inmost soul."

— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)

Date: 1852

"Alas! is even love too weak / To unlock the heart, and let it speak?"

— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)

Date: 1852

"Ah! well for us, if even we, / Even for a moment, can get free / Our heart, and have our lips unchain'd; / For that which seals them hath been deep-ordain'd!"

— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)

Date: 1852

"Yet still, from time to time, vague and forlorn, / From the soul's subterranean depth upborne / As from an infinitely distant land, / Come airs, and floating echoes, and convey / A melancholy into all our day."

— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)

Date: 1852

"A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, / And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again."

— Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888)