The tempered light of the woods is like a perpetual morning.

When all shoot at one mark, the gods join in the combat.

[W]e pity our fathers for dying before steam and galvanism, sulphuric ether and ocean telegraphs, photograph and spectrograph arrived, as cheated out of their human estate.

These are the voices which we hear in solitude, but they grow faint and inaudible as we enter into the world.

The world is the perennial miracle which the soul worketh.

The the illuminated mind the whole world sparkles with light.

The eloquence of one stimulates all the rest, some up to the speaking-point, and all others to a degree that makes them good receivers and conductors, and they avenge themselves for their enforced silence by increased loquacity on their return.