Wealth begins . . . in giving on all sides by tools and auxiliaries the greatest possible extension to our powers; as if it added feet and hands and eyes and blood. . . .

What is odious but . . . people . . . who toast their feet on the register. . . .

The abstractionist and the materialist thus mutually exasperating each other, and the scoffer expressing the worst of materialism, there arises a third party to occupy the middle ground between these two, the skeptic, namely. He finds both wrong by being in extremes. He labors to plant his feet, to be the beam of the balance.

You are running to seek your friend. Let your feet run, but your mind need not.

There is a moment in the history of every nation, when . . . the perceptive powers reach their ripeness and have not yet become microscopic: so that man, at that instant . . . with his feet still planted on the immense forces of night, converses by his eyes and brain with solar and stellar creation.

The ideas of things intellectually known pass into the substance of the intellect much more than do foods into the substance of the body.

In these times I don't, in a manner of speaking, know what I want; perhaps I don't want what I know and want what I don't know.