If wrinkles must be written on our brows, let them not be written upon the heart. The spirit should never grow old.

When the Divine Artist would produce a poem, He plants a germ of it in a human soul, and out of that soul the poem springs and grows as from the rose-tree the rose.

A noble life crowned with heroic death, rises above and outlives the pride and pomp and glory of the mightiest empire of the earth.

Territory is but the body of a nation. The people who inhabit its hills and valleys are its soul, its spirit, its life.

True art is but the anti-type of nature; the embodiment of discovered beauty in utility.

..remember that under our institutions there was no middle ground for the negro race between slavery and equal citizenship.

God reigns, and the Government at Washington still lives!