The sublimity connected with vastness, is familiar to every eye.

Should we distrust the man because his manners are not our manners, and that his skin is dark?

Where are your combing seas, your blue water, your rollers, your breakers, your whales, or your waterspouts, and your endless motion, in this bit of a forest, child?

History, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.

Slavery is no more sinful, by the Christian code, than it is sinful to wear a whole coat, while another is in tatters, to eat a better meal than a neighbor, or otherwise to enjoy ease and plenty, while our fellow creatures are suffering and in want.

These families, you know, are our upper crust, not upper ten thousand.

We are all human, and all do wrong.