Nature Admits No Lie.

The Fearful Unbelief Is Unbelief In Yourself.

Have Not I Myself Known Five Hundred Living Soldiers Sabred Into Crows' Meat For A Piece Of Glazed Cotton, Which They Call Their Flag; Which Had You Sold It At Any Market-cross, Would Not Have Brought Above Three Groschen?

Culture Is The Process By Which A Person Becomes All That They Were Created Capable Of Being.

Man's Unhappiness, As I Construe, Comes Of His Greatness; It Is Because There Is An Infinite In Him, Which With All His Cunning He Cannot Quite Bury Under The Finite.

Writing Is A Dreadful Labor, Yet Not So Dreadful As Idleness.