He that would look with contempt on the pursuits of the farmer, is not worthy the name of a man.

There is nothing that a New-Englander so nearly worships as an argument.

Next to victory, there is nothing so sweet as defeat, if only the right adversary overcomes you.

Of all the music that reached farthest into heaven, it is the beating of a loving heart.

A man who does not know how to be angry, does not know how to be good. Now and then a man should be shaken to the core with indignation over things evil.

It will not do to be saints at meeting and sinners everywhere else.

There is not a heart but has its moments of longing, yearning for something better; nobler; holier than it knows now.