A judicious man looks at Statistics, not to "get knowledge, but to save himself from having ignorance foisted 'on him".

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.

If an eloquent speaker speak not the truth, is there a more horrid kind of object in creation?

History is the new poetry.

A thinking man is the worst enemy the Prince of Darkness can have; every time such an one announces himself, I doubt not there runs a shudder through the nether empire; and new emissaries are trained with new tactics, to, if possible, entrap and hoodwink and handcuff him.

Our very walking is an incessant falling; a falling and a catching of ourselves before we come actually to the pavement. It is emblematic of all things a man does.

All human things do require to have an ideal in them; to have some soul in them.