There is no week nor day nor hour when tyranny may not enter upon this country, if the people lose their roughness and spirit of defiance.

I tramp a perpetual journey.

Silence? What can New York-noisy, roaring, rumbling, tumbling, bustling, story, turbulent New York-have to do with silence? Amid the universal clatter, the incessant din of business, the all swallowing vortex of the great money whirlpool-who has any, even distant, idea of the profound repose......of silence?

There is no place like it, no place with an atom of its glory, pride, and exultancy. It lays its hand upon a man's bowels; he grows drunk with ecstasy; he grows young and full of glory, he feels that he can never die.

I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd, I stand and look at them long and long.

My words itch at your ears till you understand them

This face is a dog's snout sniffing for garbage, snakes nest in that mouth, I hear the sibilant threat.