I can remember the very spot in the road, whilst in my carriage, when to my joy the solution occurred to me.

We may confidently come to the conclusion, that the forces which slowly and by little starts uplift continents, and that those which at successive periods pour forth volcanic matter from open orifices, are identical.

If every one were cast in the same mould, there would be no such thing as beauty.

The season of love is that of battle. The roots of these fights run deep.

...for the shield may be as important for victory, as the sword or spear.

I feel like an old warhorse at the sound of a trumpet when I read about the capturing of rare beetles.

It is like confessing to a murder.