Neither had Watt of the Steam engine a heroic origin, any kindred with the princes of this world. The princes of this world were shooting their partridges... While this man with blackened fingers, with grim brow, was searching out, in his workshop, the Fire-secret.

Imagination is a poor matter when it has to part company with understanding.

Speech is too often not the art of concealing thought, but of quite stifling and suspending thought, so that there is none to conceal.

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green.

Out of the lowest depths there is a path to the loftiest heights.

There is but one temple in this Universe: The Body. We speak to God whenever we lay our hands upon it.

A man's perfection is his work.