It is only the intellect that can be thoroughly and hideously wicked. It can forget everything in the attainment of its ends. The heart recoils; in its retired some drops of childhood's dew still linger, defying manhood's fiery noon.

Folks never understand the folks they hate.

Life is the jailer, death the angel sent to draw the unwilling bolts and set us free.

When I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy, But I had Aladdin's lamp.

Life may be given in many ways, and loyalty to truth be sealed as bravely in the closet as the field.

An appeal to the reason of the people has never been known to fail in the long run.

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