It is one light which beams out of a thousand stars. It is one soul which animates all men.

If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways, I keep and pass and turn again.

Our prejudices are our robbers, they rob us valuable things in life. People only see what they are prepared to see.

For a great nature, it is a happiness to escape a religious training; religion of character is so apt to be invaded.

The etymologist finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture. Language is fossil poetry. As the limestone of the continent consists of infinite masses of the shells of animalcules, so language is made up of images or tropes, which now, in their secondary use, have long ceased to remind us of their poetic origin.

Let us answer a book of ink with a book of flesh and blood.

Books are the best of things, well used; abused, among the worst...They are for nothing but to inspire.