And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.

Of all mankind the great poet is the equable man. Not in him but off from him things are grotesque or eccentric or fail of their sanity.

Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.

The truth is simple. If it was complicated, everyone would understand it.

What has miserable, inefficient Mexico...to do with the great mission of peopling the New World with a noble race?

Battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I cannot too often repeat that Democracy is a word the real gist of which still sleeps, quite unawakened, notwithstanding the resonance and the many angry tempests out of which its syllables have come, from pen or tongue. It is a great word, whose history, I suppose, remains unwritten because that history has yet to be enacted.