The universe seems bankrupt as soon as we begin to discuss the characters of individuals.

Renew thyself completely each day.

. . . I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days. . . .

Why should not our whole life and its scenery be actually thus fair and distinct? All our lives want a suitable background. They should at least, like the life of the anchorite, be as impressive to behold as objects in a desert, a broken shaft or crumbling mound against a limitless horizon.

If the machine of government is of such a nature that it requires you to be the agent of injustice to another, then, I say, break the law.

I was not born to be forced.

That grand old poem called Winter