We are to remember what an umpire Nature is; what a greatness, composure of depth and tolerance there is in her. You take wheat to cast into the Earth's bosom; your wheat may be mixed with chaff, chopped straw, barn-sweepings, dust and all imaginable rubbish; no matter: you cast it into the kind just Earth; she grows the wheat, - the whole rubbish she silently absorbs, shrouds it in, says nothing of the rubbish.

A witty statesman said, you might prove anything by figures.

Infinite is the help man can yield to man.

We are not altogether here to tolerate. We are here to resist, to control and vanquish withal.

A man's perfection is his work.

There is something in man which your science cannot satisfy.

A man perfects himself by working.