Of all the arts poetry (which owes its origin almost entirely to genius and will least be guided by precept or example) maintains the first rank.

Have patience awhile; slanders are not long-lived. Truth is the child of time; erelong she shall appear to vindicate thee.

Why were a few, or a single one, made at all, if only to exist in order to be made eternally miserable, which is infinitely worse than non-existence?

Humanity is at its greatest perfection in the race of the whites.

Without man and his potential for moral progress, the whole of reality would be a mere wilderness, a thing in vain, and have no final purpose.

One is not rich by what one owns, but more by what one is able to do without with dignity.

For peace to reign on Earth, humans must evolve into new beings who have learned to see the whole first.