It is part of my creed that the only poetry is history, could we tell it right.

Perfect ignorance is quiet, perfect knowledge is quiet; not so the transition from the former to the latter.

No man lives without jostling and being jostled; in all ways he has to elbow himself through the world, giving and receiving offence.

Song is the heroics of speech.

There are depths in man that go to the lowest hell, and heights that reach the highest heaven, for are not both heaven and hell made out of him, everlasting miracle and mystery that he is.

A greater number of God's creatures believe in Mahomet's word at this hour than in any other word whatever. Are we to suppose that it was a miserable piece of spiritual legerdemain, this which so many creatures of the almighty have lived by and died by?

Happy the People whose Annals are blank in History Books!