A word spoken in season, at the right moment; is the mother of ages.

We have our little theory on all human and divine things. Poetry, the workings of genius itself, which, in all times, with one or another meaning, has been called Inspiration, and held to be mysterious and inscrutable, is no longer without its scientific exposition. The building of the lofty rhyme is like any other masonry or bricklaying: we have theories of its rise, height, decline and fall -- which latter, it would seem, is now near, among all people.

I do not believe in the collective wisdom of individual ignorance.

If Hero means sincere man, why may not every one of us be a Hero?

Cash-payment never was, or could except for a few years be, the union-bond of man to man. Cash never yet paid one man fully his deserts to another; nor could it, nor can it, now or henceforth to the end of the world.

A false man found a religion? Why, a false man cannot build a brick house!

Whose school-hours are all the days and nights of our existence.