“I can forgive, but I cannot forget,” is only another way of saying, “I will not forgive.”

Brethren, we are all sailing home; and by and by, when we are not thinking of it, some shadowy thing (men call it death), at midnight, will pass by, and will call us by name, and will say, "I have a message for you from home; God wants you; heaven waits for you.

Books are not men and yet they stay alive.

Sorrows are gardeners: they plant flowers along waste places, and teach vines to cover barren heaps.

Self-government by the whole people is the teleologic idea. The republican form of government is the noblest and the best, as it is the latest.

Are they dead that yet speak louder than we can speak, and a more universal language? Are they dead that yet act? Are they dead that yet move upon society and inspire the people with nobler motives and more heroic patriotism?

Home should be an oratorio of the memory, singing to all our after life melodies and harmonies of old-remembered joy.