Conversation in society is found to be on a platform so low as to exclude science, the saint, and the poet.

Man is the will, and woman the sentiment. In this ship of humanity, Will is the rudder, and Sentiment the sail; when woman affects to steer, the rudder is only a masked sail.

All the mistakes I make arise from forsaking my own station and trying to see the object from another person's point of view.

The philanthropists inquire whether Transcendentalism does not mean sloth: they had as lief hear that their friend is dead, as that he is a Transcendentalist; for then is he paralyzed, and can never do anything for humanity.

We dare not trust our wit for making our house pleasant to our friend, so we buy ice cream.

All the tools and engines on earth are only extensions of man's limbs and senses.

A friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.