There is no self-delusion more fatal than that which makes the conscience dreamy with the anodyne of lofty sentiments, while the life is groveling and sensual

For men in earnest have no time to waste In patching fig-leaves for the naked truth.

To make the common marvelous is the test of genius.

The time is ripe, and rotten-ripe, for change... [Truth's] mirror is turned forward, to reflect The promise of the future, not the past.

The snow had begun in the gloaming, and busily all the night had been heaping field and highway with a silence deep and white.

I tell ye wut, my judgment is you're pooty sure to fail, Ez long 'z the head keeps turnin' back for counsel to the the tail.

Ah, men do not know how much strength is in poise, That he goes the farthest who goes far enough.