The bitterest tragic element in life to be derived from an intellectual source is the belief in a brute Fate or Destiny.

We are a puny and fickle folk. Avarice, hesitation, and following are our diseases.

Where dwells the religion? Tell me first where dwells electricity, or motion, or thought or gesture. They do not dwell or stay atall. Electricity cannot be made fast, mortared up and ended, like London Monument, or the Tower, so that you shall know where to find it, and keep it fixed, as the English do with their things, forevermore; it is passing, glancing, gesticular; it is a traveller, a newness, a surprise, a secret which perplexes them, and puts them out.

The stupidity of men always invites the insolence of power.

The surest poison is time.

Magic and all that is ascribed to it is a deep presentiment of the powers of science.

Who loses a day loses life.