Little other than a red tape Talking-machine, and unhappy Bag of Parliamentary Eloquence.

Unity, agreement, is always silent or soft-voiced; it is only discord that loudly proclaims itself.

We have not read an author till we have seen his object, whatever it may be, as he saw it.

The fine arts once divorcing themselves from truth are quite certain to fall mad, if they do not die.

For all right judgment of any man or things it is useful, nay, essential, to see his good qualities before pronouncing on his bad.

Are we not Spirits, that are shaped into a body, into an Appearance; and that fade away again into air and Invisibility? Oh, Heaven, it is mysterious, it is awful to consider that we not only carry a future Ghost within us; but are, in very deed, Ghosts! These Limbs, whence had we them; this stormy Force; this life-blood with its burning Passion? They are dust and shadow; a Shadow-system gathered round our Me; wherein, through some moments or years, the Divine Essence is to be revealed in the Flesh.

A man protesting against error is on the way towards uniting himself with all men that believe in truth.