Even in the meanest sorts of labor, the whole soul of a man is composed into a kind of real harmony the instant he sets himself to work.

Thought once awakened does not again slumber; unfolds itself into a System of Thought; grows, in man after man, generation after generation, - till its full stature is reached, and such System of Thought can grow no farther, but must give place to another.

Youth is to all the glad season of life; but often only by what it hopes, not by what it attains, or what it escapes.

Is not light grander than fire?

Lives the man that can figure a naked Duke of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?

What, in the devil's name, is the use of respectability, with never so many gigs and silver spoons, if thou inwardly art the pitifulness of all men?

The end of Man is an Action, and not a Thought, though it were the noblest?