No one suspects the days to be gods.

Alas for America as I must so often say, the ungirt, the diffuse, the profuse, procumbent, one wide ground juniper, out of which no cedar, no oak will rear up a mast to the clouds! It all runs to leaves, to suckers, to tendrils, to miscellany. The air is loaded with poppy, with imbecility, with dispersion, & sloth.

"Do not call yourself an "artist-photographer" and make "artist-painters" and "artist-sculptors" laugh; call yourself a photographer and wait for artists to call you brother."

I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery, and believe that we are as much touched by it as by the genial influences of summer.

Every burned book enlightens the world.

What forests of laurel we bring, and the tears of mankind, to those who stood firm against the opinion of their contemporaries!

'Tis a good rule in every journey to provide some piece of liberal study to rescue the hours which bad weather, bad company, and taverns steal from the best economist.