The vulgar call good fortune that which really is produced by the calculations of genius.

An individual is an encloser. Time and space, liberty and necessity, truth and thought, are left at large no longer.

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world. Society everywhere is in conspiracy against the manhood of everyone of its members. Society is a joint-stock company, in which the members agree, for the better securing of his bread to each shareholder, to surrender the liberty and culture of the eater. The virtue in most request is conformity. Self-reliance is its aversion. It loves not realities and creators, but names and customs.

Self sacrifice is the real miracle out of which all the reported miracles grow.

The socialism of our day has done good service in setting men to thinking how certain civilizing benefits, now only enjoyed by theopulent, can be enjoyed by all.

Solitude is naught and society is naught. Alternate them and the good of each is seen.

Coal is a portable climate.