The peace of the man who has forsworn the use of the bullet seems to me not quite peace, but a canting impotence.

As every man is hunted by his own daemon, vexed by his own disease, this checks all his activity.

Thoughts rule the world.

I see not any road of perfect peace which a man can walk but after the counsel of his own bosom.

Let not the author eat up the man, so that he shall be all balcony and no house.

Who are the farmer's servants? ... Geology and Chemistry, the quarry of the air, the water of the brook, the lightning of the cloud, the castings of the worm, the plough of the frost.

It is bad enough that our geniuses cannot do anything useful, but it is worse that no man is fit for society who has fine traits.He is admired at a distance, but he cannot come near without appearing a cripple.