That grand old poem called Winter

Such is the never-failing beauty and accuracy of language, the most perfect art in the world; the chisel of a thousand years retouches it.

I had three pieces of limestone on my desk, but I was terrified to find that they required to be dusted daily, when the furniture of my mind was all undusted still, and threw them out the window in disgust.

Every blade in the field - Every leaf in the forest - lays down its life in its season as beautifully as it was taken up.

The universe expects every man to do his duty in his parallel of latitude.

What shall we think of a government to which all the truly brave and just men in the land are enemies, standing between it and those whom it oppresses? A government that pretends to be Christian and crucifies a million Christs every day!

If you are a seer, whenever you meet a man you will see all that he owns, ay, and much that he pretends to disown, behind him.