Sure as the most certain sure .... plumb in the uprights, well entreated, braced in the beams, Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery we stand. Clear and sweet is my soul .... and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul, Lack one lacks both .... and the unseen is proved by the seen Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn. To elaborate is no avail .... Learned and unlearned feel that it is so.

The Americans, like the English, probably make love worse than any other race.

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

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?

I hate commas in the wrong places.

Me imperturbe, standing at ease in nature.

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