The future... seems to me no unified dream but a mince pie, long in the baking, never quite done

What is revenge but courage to call in our honor's debts, and wisdom to convert others' self-love into our own protection?

Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?

Pity swells the tide of love.

Joys season'd high, and tasting strong of guilt.

The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death; he walks with nature; and her paths are peace.

However smothered under former negligence, or scattered through the dull, dark mass of common thoughts - let thy genius rise as the sun from chaos.