To speak impartially, the best men that I know are not serene, a world in themselves. For the most part, they dwell in forms, andflatter and study effect only more finely than the rest.

Our thoughts are epochs in our lives; all else is but as a journal of the winds that blow while we are here.

We seem to think that the earth must go through the ordeal of sheep-pasturage before it is habitable by man.

Instead of water we got here a draught of beer, a lumberer's drink, which would acclimate and naturalize a man at once,-which would make him see green, and, if he slept, dream that he heard the wind sough among the pines.

You must get your living by loving. But as it is said of the merchants that ninety-seven in a hundred fail, so the life of men generally, tried by this standard, is a failure, and bankruptcy may be surely prophesied.

Why do you ever mend your clothes, unless that, wearing them, you may mend your ways. Let us sing.

Who knows what the human body would expand and flow out to under a more genial heaven?