Truth is poetry; it is the grandest poetry.

Liberty is an old fact; it has had its heroes and its martyrs in almost every age. As I look back through the vista of centuries, I can see no end of the ranks of those who have toiled and suffered in its cause, and who wear upon their breasts its stars of the legion of honor.

There is a sweet anguish springing up in our bosoms when a child's face brightens under the shadow of the waiting angel. There is an autumnal fitness when age gives up the ghost; and when the saint dies there is a tearful victory.

Is there anything so wretched as to look at a man of fine abilities doing nothing?

Death makes a beautiful appeal to charity. When we look upon the dead form, so composed and still, the kindness and the love that are in us all come forth.

No great truth bursts upon man without having its hemisphere of darkness and sorrow.

If one's conscience be dead as a stone, it is as heavy too.