Barbarism Recommences By The Excess Of Civilization.

The Death Of A Man's Wife Is Like Cutting Down An Ancient Oak That Has Long Shaded The Family Mansion. Henceforth The Glare Of The World, With Its Cares And Vicissitudes Falls Upon The Old Widower's Heart, And There Is Nothing To Break Their Force, Or Shield Him From The Full Weight Of Misfortune. It Is As If His Right Hand Were Withered; As If One Wing Of His Angel Was Broken, And Every Movement That He Made Brought Him To The Ground.

It Is Because Of The Servility Of Photography That I Am Fundamentally Contemptuous Of This Chance Invention Which Will Never Be An Art But Which Plagiarizes Nature By Means Of Optics. (1848)

Habit With It's Iron Sinews, Clasps Us And Leads Us Day By Day.

Limited In His Nature, Infinite In His Desires, Man Is A Fallen God Who Remembers The Heavens.

Providence Conceals Itself In The Details Of Human Affairs, But Becomes Unveiled In The Generalities Of History.