God thinks in the geniusses, he dreams in the poets and slumbers in the rest of humanity.

It is sad to be an exception. But not to be one is even sadder.

I never dreamed of being Shakespeare or Goethe, and I never expected to hold the great mirror of truth up before the world I dreamed only of being a little pocket mirror, the sort that a woman can carry in her purse one that reflects small blemishes, and some great beauties, when held close enough to the heart.

God thinks within geniuses, dreams within poets, and sleeps within the rest of us.