The Indian who was laid under a curse, that the wind should not blow on him, nor water flow to him, nor fire burn him, is a type of us all. The dearest events are summer-rain, and we the Para coats that shed every drop. Nothing is left us now but death. We look to that with a grim satisfaction, saying, there at least is reality that will not dodge us.

The right eloquence needs no bell to call the people together, and no constable to keep them.

it in every fair face, every fair sky, every fair flower.

When we quarrel, how we wish we had been blameless.

The orator is thereby an orator that keeps his feet ever on a fact.

Ne te quaesiveris extra." (Do not seek for things outside of yourself)

Every natural power exhilarates; a true talent delights the possessor first.