The times are very bad. Very well, you are there to make them better.

All deep things are song. It seems somehow the very central essence of us, song; as if all the rest were but wrappages and hulls!

Great souls are always loyally submissive, reverent to what is over them: only small mean souls are otherwise.

Labor, wide as the earth, has its summit in heaven.

Produce, produce! Were it but the pitifulest, infinitesimal fraction of a product, produce it in God's name. 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee? Out with it then! Up, up! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might.

A false man found a religion? Why, a false man cannot build a brick house!

For man is not the creature and product of Mechanism; but, in a far truer sense, its creator and producer.