History is clarified experience.

The very gnarliest and hardest of hearts has some musical strings in it; but they are tuned differently in every one of us.

Over our manhood bend the skies; Against our fallen and traitor lives The great winds utter prophecies; With our faint hearts the mountain strives, Its arms outstretched, the druid wood Waits with its benedicite And to our age’s drowsy blood Still shouts the inspiring sea.

He who keeps his faith only, cannot be discrowned.

A father of the church said that property was theft, many centuries before Proudhon was born. Bourdaloue reaffirmed it. Montesquieu was the inventor of national workshops and of the theory that the state owed every man a living. Nay, was not the church herself the first organized democracy?

A friendship counting nearly forty years is the finest kind of shade-tree I know.

To win the secret of a weed's plain heart.