There is something in man which your science cannot satisfy.

A man--be the heavens ever praised!--is sufficient for himself.

We observe with confidence that the truly strong mind, view it as intellect or morality, or under any other aspect, is nowise the mind acquainted with its strength; that here the sign of health is unconsciousness.

How, without clothes, could we possess the master organ, soul's seat and true pineal gland of the body social--I mean a purse?

To each is given a certain inward talent, a certain outward environment or fortune; to each by wisest combination of these two, a certain maximum capacity.

All work, even cotton-spinning, is noble; work is alone noble.

There is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredness, in work. Were he never so benighted, forgetful of his high calling, there is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works: in idleness alone there is perpetual despair.