The facts of the present won't sit still for a portrait. They are constantly vibrating, full of clutter and confusion.

Men ardently pursue truth, assuming it will be angels' bread when found.

Ideas, like individuals, live and die. They flourish, according to their nature, in one soil or climate and droop in another. They are the vegetation of the mental world.

If there be a skeptical star I was born under it. Yet I have lived all my days in complete astonishment.

The facts of the present won't sit still for a portrait. They are constantly vibrating, full of clutter and confusion.

Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect. For what has happened? A miracle. You have exchanged nothing for the possibility of everything.

There is more than a morsel of truth in the saying, "He who hates vice hates mankind."