But the past is passed; why moralize upon it? Forget it. See, yon bright son has forgotten it all, and the blue sea, and the blue sky; these have turned over new leaves. Because they have no memory . . . because they are not human.

And the visible world seems formed in love, the invisible spheres were formed in fright.

My means are sane, my motives and my object mad.

Out of the trunk, the branches grow; out of them, the twigs. So, in productive subjects, grow the chapters.

We die, because we live.

Those of us who always abhorred slavery as an atheistical iniquity, gladly we join in the exulting chorus of humanity over its downfall.

Nothing can lift the heart of man like manhood in a fellow man.