Routine is a ground to stand on, a wall to retreat to; we cannot draw on our boots without bracing ourselves against it.

I was born upon thy bank, river, My blood flows in thy stream, And thou meanderest forever, At the bottom of my dream.

By what a delicate and far-stretched contribution every island is made! What an enterprise of nature thus to lay the foundations of and to build up the future continent, of golden and silver sands and the ruins of forests, with ant-like industry.

Morning work! By the blushes of Aurora and the music of Memnon, what should be man's morning work in this world?

The Great Snow! How cheerful it is to hear of!

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

Most men, it seems to me, do not care for Nature and would sell their share in all her beauty, as long as they may live, for a stated sum - many for a glass of rum. Thank God, men cannot as yet fly, and lay waste the sky as well as the earth!