We communicate like the burrows of foxes, in silence and darkness, under ground. We are undermined by faith and love.

There has always been the same amount of light in the world. The new and missing stars, the comets and eclipses, do not affect thegeneral illumination, for only our glasses appreciate them.

Men and boys are learning all kinds of trades but how to make men of themselves. They learn to make houses; but they are not so well housed, they are not so contented in their houses, as the woodchucks in their holes.

We are sometimes made aware of a kindness long passed, and realize that there have been times when our friends' thoughts of us were of so pure and lofty a character that they passed over us like the winds of heaven unnoticed; when they treated us not as what we were, but as what we aspired to be.

Of all the men who were said to be my contemporaries, it seemed to me that John Brown was the only one who had not died.

When a man dies he kicks the dust.

I have found that hollow, which even I had relied on for solid.