Shall I ask the brave soldier who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree?

A book reads the better which is our own, and has been so long known to us, that we know the topography of its blots, and dog's ears, and can trace the dirt in it to having read it at tea with buttered muffins.

I conceive disgust at these impertinent and misbecoming familiarities inscribed upon your ordinary tombstone.

Man, while he loves, is never quite depraved.

All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.

We gain nothing by being with such as ourselves. We encourage one another in mediocrity. I am always longing to be with men more excellent than myself.

I am in love with the green earth.