The devil loves nothing better than the intolerance of reformers.

We cannot but think there is something like a fallacy in Mr. Buckle's theory that the advance of mankind is necessarily in the direction of science, and not in that of morals.

In the earliest ages science was poetry, as in the later poetry has become science.

Some kind of pace may be got out of the eeriest jade by the near prospect of oats; but the thoroughbred has the spur in his blood.

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way, Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride uphold.

It is not the insurrections of ignorance that are dangerous, but the revolts of the intelligence.

Through aisles of long-drawn centuries my spirit walks in thought.