The necessity of labor and conversation with many men and things to the scholar is rarely well remembered.

It is the art of mankind to polish the world, and every one who works is scrubbing in some part.

The man who is dissatisfied with himself, what can he do?

For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it (life), whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to 'glorify God and enjoy him forever.'

Already nature is serving all those uses which science slowly derives on a much higher and grander scale to him that will be served by her. When the sunshine falls on the path of the poet, he enjoys all those pure benefits and pleasures which the arts slowly and partially realize from age to age. The winds which fan his cheek waft him the sum of that profit and happiness which their lagging inventions supply.

Oh, one world at a time!

There are nine hundred and ninety-nine patrons of virtue to one virtuous man.