There comes Emerson first, whose rich words, every one, Are like gold nails in temples to hang trophies on.

Again, now, now, again Plashes the rain in heavy gouts, The crinkled lightning Seems ever brightening... And loud and long Again the thunder shouts His battle-song, - One quivering flash, One wildering crash, Followed by silence dead and dull, As if the cloud, let go, Leapt bodily below To whelm the earth in one mad overthrow, And then a total lull.

All thoughts that mold the age begin deep down within the primitive soul.

The greatest homage we can pay to truth, is to use it.

All the beautiful sentiments in the world weigh less than a single lovely action.

Toward no crimes have men shown themselves so cold- bloodedly cruel as in punishing differences of belief.

The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, for change; Then let it come: I have no dread of what Is called for by the instinct of mankind. Nor think I that God's world would fall apart Because we tear a parchment more or less. Truth is eternal, but her effluence, With endless change, is fitted to the hour; Her mirror is turned forward, to reflect The promise of the future, not the past. I do not fear to follow out the truth.