I celebrate myself, and sing myself.

Logic and sermons never convince, The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.

And your very flesh shall be a great poem.

When one reaches out to help another he touches the face of God.

I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people, "Do not weep for me, This is not my true country, I have lived banished from my true country - I now go back there, I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn."

A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books.

The purpose of democracy - supplanting old belief in the necessary absoluteness of establish'd dynastic rulership, temporal, ecclesiastical, and scholastic, as furnishing the only security against chaos, crime, and ignorance - is, through many transmigrations, and amid endless ridicules, arguments, and ostensible failures