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.

We are only what we are; not what we would be; nor every thing we hope for. We are but a step in a scale, that reaches further above us than below.

I could...see in Emerson...that had he lived in those days when the world was made, he might have offered some valuable suggestions.

Nature has not implanted any power in man that was not meant to be exercised at times, though too often our powers have been abused.

In a multitude of acquaintances is less security, than in one faithful friend.

It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.

At my years, and with my disposition, or rather, constitution, one gets to care less and less for everything except downright goodfeeling. Life is so short, and so ridiculous and irrational (from a certain point of view) that one knows not what to make of it, unless--well, finish the sentence for yourself.