The religions of the world are the ejaculations of a few imaginative men.

When I read a good book, I wish my life were three thousand years long.

Another sort of false prayers are our regrets. Discontent is the way of self-reliance: it is infirmity of will. Regret calamities, if you can thereby help the sufferer; if not, attend your own work, and already the evil begins to be repaired.

Language is the archives of history.

In my utter impotence to test the authenticity of the report of my senses, to know whether the impressions they make on me correspond with outlying objects, what difference does it make, whether Orion is up there in heaven, or some god paints the image in the firmament of the soul?

The shot heard round the world.

Beauty is the moment of transition, as if the form were just ready to flow into other forms.