The profound calm which only apparently precedes and prophesies of the storm, is perhaps more awful than the storm itself; for indeed, the calm is but the wrapper and envelop of the storm, and contains it in itself, as the seemingly harmless rifle holds the fatal powder, and the ball, and the explosion.

Man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.

Life’s a voyage that’s homeward bound.

A ship is a bit of terra firma cut off from the main; it is a state in itself; and the captain is its king.

War being the greatest of evils, all its accessories necessarily partake of the same character.

Were this world an endless pain, and by sailing eastward we could forever reach new distances, and discover sights more sweet and strange than any Cyclades or Islands of King Solomon, then there were promise in the voyage.

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