Money, in truth, can do much, but it cannot do all. We must know the province of it, and confine it there, and even spurn it back when it wishes to get farther.

Earnestness alone makes life eternity.

Man, it is not thy works, which are mortal, infinitely little, and the greatest no greater than the least, but only the spirit thou workest in, that can have worth or continuance.

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

We call that fire of the black thunder-cloud "electricity," and lecture learnedly about it, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk: but what is it? What made it? Whence comes it? Whither goes it?

Respectable Professors of the Dismal Science.

It is part of my creed that the only poetry is history, could we tell it right.