There is in my nature, methinks, a singular yearning toward all wildness.

A modern author would have died in infancy in a ruder age.

We are superior to the joy we experience.

What right have I to grieve, who have not ceased to wonder?

Faint heart never won true friend. O my friend, may it come to pass, once, that when you are my friend I may be yours.

Wherever there is a channel for water, there is a road for the canoe.

A man might well pray that he may not taboo or curse any portion of nature by being buried in it.