Intellect annuls fate. So far as a man thinks he is free.
The writer is an explorer. Every step is an advance into a new land.
Love, and you shall be loved.
We may be partial, but Fate is not.
The consciousness in each man is a sliding scale, which identifies him now with the First Cause, and now with the flesh of his body; life above life, in infinite degrees.
I have just been conversing with one man, to whom no weight of adverse experience will make it for a moment appear impossible that thousands of human beings might exercise towards each other the grandest and simplest sentiments, as well as a knot of friends, or a pair of lovers.