Old age: The estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours into the Great Sea.

I dote on myself. There is a lot of me and all so luscious.

All the past we leave behind; We debouch upon a newer, mightier world, varied world, Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march, Pioneers! O Pioneers!

I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness to moral beauty.

I am too not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.

I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.

Give me the splendid, silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling.