If in the least particular, one could derange the order of nature, who would accept the gift of life?

Society is an illusion to the young citizen. It lies before him in rigid repose, with certain names, men, and institutions, rootedlike oak-trees to the centre, round which all arrange themselves the best they can. But the old statesman knows that society is fluid; there are no such roots and centres; but any particle may suddenly become the centre of the movement, and compel the system to gyrate round it, as every man of strong will, like Pisistratus, or Cromwell, does for a time, and every man of truth, like Plato, or Paul, does forever.

Many a reformer perishes in his removal of rubbish,--and that makes the offensiveness of the class. They are partial; they are notequal to the work they pretend. They lose their way; in the assault on the kingdom of darkness, they expend all their energy on some accidental evil, and lose their sanity and power of benefit.

Perhaps love is only the highest symbol of friendship, as all other things seem symbols of love.

We know that madness belongs to love,--what power to paint a vile object in hues of heaven.

Accuracy is essential to beauty.

It is curious that Christianity, which is idealism, is sturdily defended by the brokers, and steadily attacked by the idealists.