Nature is a rag merchant, who works up every shred and ort and end into new creations.

The hero sees that the event is ancillary: it must follow him.

The essence of all jokes, of all comedy, seems to be an honest or well intended halfness; a non performance of that which is pretended to be performed, at the same time that one is giving loud pledges of performance. The balking of the intellect, is comedy and it announces itself in the pleasant spasms we call laughter.

The simplest words,--we do not know what they mean except when we love and aspire.

Every man is an infinitely repelling orb, and holds his individual being on that condition.

Nations have lost their old omnipotence; the patriotic tiedoes not hold. Nations are getting obsolete, we go and live where we will.

Let us interrogate the great apparition, that shines so peacefully around us.