Over all the sky - the sky! Far, far out of reach, studded with eternal stars.

Through the ample open door of the peaceful country barn, A sun-lit pasture field, with cattle and horses feeding; And haze, and vista, and the far horizon, fading away.

Americans should know the universe itself as a road, as many roads, as roads for traveling souls.

Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background, the countless minor scenes and interiors of the secession war; and it is best they should not. The real war will never get in the books.

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your bootsoles.

I see great things in baseball. It's our game - the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen, give them a larger physical stoicism. Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. Repair these losses, and be a blessing to us.

What do you suppose will satisfy the soul, except to walk free and own no superior?