Faith is a kind of winged intellect. The great workmen of history have been men who believed like giants.

The heart has eyes which the brain knows nothing of.

My sin is the black spot which my bad act makes, seen against the disk of the Sun of Righteousness. Hence religion and sin come and go together.

Faith is mind at its best, its bravest, and its fiercest. Faith is thought become poetry, and absorbing into itself the soul's great, passions. Faith is intellect carried up to its transfigurement.

Character is, for the most part, simply habit become fixed.

Labor is the handmaid of religion.

Laws of Nature are God's thoughts thinking themselves out in the orbs and the tides.