Be it life or death, we crave only reality.

It is strange to talk of miracles, revelations, inspiration, and the like, as things past, while love remains.

I love nature, I love the landscape, because it is so sincere. It never cheats me. It never jests. It is cheerfully, musically earnest. I lie and relie on the earth.

All good things are wild and free.

But labor of the hands, even when pursued to the verge of drudgery, is perhaps never the worst form of idleness. It has a constantand imperishable moral, and to the scholar it yields a classic result.

It would be no reproach to a philosopher, that he knew the future better than the past, or even than the present. It is better worth knowing.

We must have infinite faith in each other.