My ties and ballasts leave me - I travel - I sail - My elbows rest in the sea-gaps. I skirt the sierras. My palms cover continents - I am afoot with my vision.

I am as bad as the worst, but, thank God, I am as good as the best.

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

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

O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena in perfect condition, conscious of power, thirsting to meet his opponent.

After you have exhausted what there is in business, politics, conviviality, and so on - have found that none of these finally satisfy, or permanently wear - what remains? Nature remains.

I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe, and am not contained between my hat and my boots.