Sometimes a kind of glory lights up the mind of a man.

Fearful and unprepared, we have assumed lordship over the life or death of the whole world, of all living things.

Four hoarse blasts of a ship's whistle still raise the hair on my neck and set my feet to tapping.

Out of all this struggle a good thing is going to grow. That makes it worthwhile.

No one wants advice - only corroboration.

There used to be a thing or a commodity we put great store by. It was called the People. Find out where the People have gone. I don't mean the square-eyed toothpaste-and-hair-dye people or the new-car-or-bust people, or the success-and-coronary people. Maybe they never existed, but if there ever were the People, that's the commodity the Declaration was talking about, and Mr. Lincoln.

In uncertainty I am certain that underneath their topmost layers of frailty men want to be good and want to be loved. Indeed most of their vices are attempted short cuts to love. When a man comes to die, no matter what his talents and influence and genius, if he dies unloved his life must be a failure to him and his dying a cold horror.