Pines a thousand years old. Every year they must go farther for them: they recede, like beavers and Indians, before the white man.

Go put your creed into your deed, Nor speak with double tongue.

He in whom the love of truth predominates . . . submits to the inconvenience of suspense and imperfect opinion; but he is a candidate for truth . . . and respects the highest law of his being.

Money is the representative of a certain quantity of corn or other commodity. It is so much warmth, so much bread.

The roses under my window make no reference to former roses or better ones; they are what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.

The problem of restoring to the world original and eternal beauty is solved by redemption of the soul.

The charming landscape which I saw this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.