The genuine essence of truth never dies.

There is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works: in Idleness alone is there perpetual despair.

For man is not the creature and product of Mechanism; but, in a far truer sense, its creator and producer.

A vein of poetry exists in the hearts of all men.

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

A pygmy standing on the outward crust of this small planet, his far-reaching spirit stretches outward to the infinite, and there alone finds rest.

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