Nothing can rightly compel a simple and brave man to a vulgar sadness.

My friend is one... who take me for what I am.

What demon possessed me that I behaved so well?

Where there is a lull of truth, an institution springs up. But the truth blows right on over it, nevertheless, and at length blows it down.

We find it difficult to choose our direction because it does not yet exist distinctly in our idea.

A stranger may easily detect what is strange to the oldest inhabitant, for the strange is his province.

When I visit again some haunt of my youth, I am glad to find that nature wears so well. The landscape is indeed something real, and solid, and sincere, and I have not put my foot through it yet.