Oh, to be alive in such an age, when miracles are everywhere, and every inch of common air throbs a tremendous prophecy, of greater marvels yet to be.

I and this mystery, here we stand.

God is a mean-spirited, pugnacious bully bent on revenge against His children for failing to live up to his impossible standards.

When I give, I give myself.

Other lands have their vitality in a few, a class, but we have it in the bulk of our people.

There will never be any more perfection than there is now.

For we cannot tarry here, We must march my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend, Pioneers! O pioneers!