There is hope in extravagance, there is none in routine.

Who can . . . guess how much industry and providence and affection we have caught from the pantomime of brutes?

A beautiful woman is a practical poet, taming her savage mate, planting tenderness, hope and eloquence in all whom she approaches.

All vigor is contagious.

Slavery is no scholar, no improver; it does not love the whistle of the railroad; it does not love the newspaper, the mailbag, a college, a book or a preacher who has the absurd whim of saying what he thinks; it does not increase the white population; it does not improve the soil; everything goes to decay.

He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.

If government knew how, I should like to see it check, not multiply, the population. When it reaches its true law of action, every man that is born will be hailed as essential.