Yet some can be patriotic who have no self-respect, and sacrifice the greater to the less. They love the soil which makes their graves, but have no sympathy with the spirit which may still animate their clay. Patriotism is a maggot in their heads.

There is an orientalism in the most restless pioneer, and the farthest west is but the farthest east.

Wherever a man separates from the multitude, and goes his own way in this mood, there indeed is a fork in the road, though ordinary travelers may see only a gap in the paling. His solitary path across lots will turn out the higher way of the two.

What would human life be without forests, those natural cities?

In my afternoon walk I would fain forget all my morning occupations and my obligations to society.

Our science, so called, is always more barren and mixed with error than our sympathies.

Slow are the beginnings of philosophy.