Leaves are light, and useless, and idle, and wavering, and changeable; they even dance; and yet God in his wisdom has made them a part of oaks. And in so doing he has given us a lesson, not to deny the stout-heartedness within because we see the lightsomeness without.

In the moment of our creation we receive the stamp of our individuality; and much of life is spent in rubbing off or defacing the impression.

The ablest writer is only a gardener first, and then a cook: his tasks are, carefully to select and cultivate his strongest and most nutritive thoughts; and when they are ripe, to dress them, wholesomely, and yet so that they may have a relish.

How idle it is to call certain things God-sends! as if there was anything else in the world.

Who is fit to govern others? He who governs himself. You might as well have said: nobody.

There is as much difference between good poetry and fine verses, as between the smell of a flower-garden and of a perfumer's shop.

I like the smell of a dunged field, and the tumult of a popular election.