Out of the ruined lodge and forgotten mansion, bowers that are trodden under foot, and pleasure-houses that are dust, the poet calls up a palingenesis.

It is an impressive truth that sometimes in the very lowest forms of duty, less than which would rank a man as a villain, there is, nevertheless the sublimest ascent of self-sacrifice. To do less would class you as an object of eternal scorn, to do so much presumes the grandeur of heroism.

Mathematics has not a foot to stand upon which is not purely metaphysical.

The whole body of the arts and sciences composes one vast machinery for the irritation and development of the human intellect.

I feel that there is no such thing as ultimate forgetting; traces once impressed upon the memory are indestructible.

Call for the grandest of all earthly spectacles, what is that? It is the sun going to his rest.

The public is a bad guesser.