Manners are the happy ways of doing things.

Very few of our race can be said to be yet finished men. We still carry sticking to us some remains of the preceding inferior quadruped organization. We call these millions men; but they are not yet men. Half-engaged in the soil, pawing to get free, man needs all the music that can be brought to disengage him.

Men over forty are no judges of a book written in a new spirit.

Our books approach very slowly the things we most wish to know.

Calmness is always godlike.

Truth is too simple for us: we do not like those who unmask our illusions.

Great causes are never tried on their merits; but the cause is reduced to particulars to suit the size of the partizans, and the contention is ever hottest on minor matters.