The soul is not born; it does not die; it was not produced from anyone… Unborn, eternal, it is not slain, though the body is slain.

Overhead the sanctities of the stars shine forever-more... pouring satire on the pompous business of the day which they close, and making the generations of men show slight and evanescent.

In America the geography is sublime, but the men are not; the inventions are excellent, but the inventors one is sometimes ashamed of.

As many languages as he has, as many friends, as many arts and trades, so many times is he a man.

Imagination is a very high sort of seeing.

We honor the rich because they have externally the freedom, power, and grace which we feel to be proper to man, proper to us.

Deal in our privacy with the last honesty and truth.