To me the Universe was all void of Life, of Purpose, of Volition, even of Hostility; it was one huge, dead, immeasurable Steam-engine, rolling on, in its dead indifference, to grind me limb from limb. Oh vast gloomy, solitary Golgotha, and Mill of Death! Why was the living banished thither companionless, conscious? Why, if there is no Devil; nay, unless the Devil is your God?

War is a quarrel between two thieves too cowardly to fight their own battle.

A great man shows his greatness by the way he treats little men.

The lightning spark of thought generated in the solitary mind awakens its likeness in another mind.

The past is all holy to us; the dead are all holy; even they that were wicked when alive.

All that a university or final highest school. can do for us is still but what the first school began doing--teach us to read. We learn to read in various languages, in various sciences; we learn the alphabet and letters of all manner of books. But the place where we are to get knowledge, even theoretic knowledge, is the books themselves. It depends on what we read, after all manner of professors have done their best for us. The true university of these days is a collection of books.

Silence is the element in which great things fashion themselves together.