Let faith oust fact; let fancy oust memory; I look deep down and do believe.

...The silent reminiscence of hardships departed, is sweeter than the presence of delight.

Man is a money-making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence.

Students of history are horror-struck at the massacres of old; but in the shambles, men are being murdered to-day.

There is a savor of life and immortality in substantial fare. Like balloons, we are nothing till filled.

We incline to think that God cannot explain His own secrets and that He would like a little information upon certain points Himself. We mortals astonish Him as much as He us. But it is this Being of the matter; there lies the knot with which we choke ourselves. As soon as you say Me, a God, a Nature, so soon you jump off from your stool and hang from the beam. Yes, that word is the hangman. Take God out of the dictionary, and you would have Him in the street.

However baby man may brag of his science and skill, and however much, in a flattering future, that science and skill may augment; yet for ever and for ever, to the crack of doom, the sea will insult and murder him, and pulverize the stateliest, stiffest frigate he can make; nevertheless, by the continual repetition of these very impressions, man has lost that sense of the full awfulness of the sea which aboriginally belongs to it.