A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusty, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amidst the forestry Of masts; a wilderness of steeples peeping On tiptoe through their sea-coal canopy; A huge, dun cupola, like a fools-cap crown On a fool's head - and there is London Town.

The basis of your religion is injustice. The Son of God the pure, the immaculate, the innocent, is sacrificed for the guilty. This proves his heroism, but no more does away with man's sin than a school boy's volunteering to be flogged for another would exculpate a dunce from negligence.

Reason is so unreasonable, that few people can say they are in possession of it.

Whatsoever thy birth, Thou wert a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth.

Oh Rome! My country! City of the soul!

Oh that the desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair spirit for my minister

I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recollection that it would have given pleasure to my mother-in-law.