But I shall follow the endless, winding way, — the flowing river in the cave of man; careless whither I be led, reckless where I land.

The western spirit is, or will yet be (for no other is, or can be) the true American one.

So long as a man-of-war exists, it must ever remain a picture of much that is tyrannical and repelling in human nature.

Wag the world how it will, Leaves must be green in Spring.

I try all things, I achieve what I can.

Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling’s father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.

Poor people make a very poor business of it when they try to seem rich.