I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, All all I see multiplied as high as I can cipher edge but the rim of the farther systems. Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always expanding, Outward and outward and forever outward.
Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves?
It is a beautiful truth that all men contain something of the artist in them. And perhaps it is the case that the greatest artists live and die, the world and themselves alike ignorant what they possess.
Strong and content I travel the open road.
By writing at the instant, the very heartbeat of life is caught.
I think of few heroic actions, which cannot be traced to the artistical impulse. He who does great deeds, does them from his innate sensitiveness to moral beauty.
I think I could always live with animals. The more you’re around people, the more you love animals.
We all have great things on our bucket lists like skydiving, seeing the Northern Lights etc, but what about simply falling in love? Isn’t that the most amazing thing we can do?
Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city of this earth ever afterward resumes its liberty.
I do not think seventy years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that years will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else.
Has anyone supposed it lucky to be born? I hasten to inform him or her that it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.
When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot. My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots, My breath will not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man.
And if the body were not the soul, what is the soul?
A man can be a hero in any profession.
Under the specious pretext of effecting ‘the happiness of the whole community,’ nearly all the wrongs and intrusions of government has been carried through.
It is only the novice in political economy who thinks it is the duty of government to make its citizens happy – government has no such office.
I have sometimes thought that the laws ought not to punish those actions of evil which are committed when the senses are steeped in intoxication.
I dote on myself. There is a lot of me and all so luscious.
So here I sit in the early candle-light of old age-I and my book-casting backward glances over out travel’d road.
O the joy of my spirit – it is uncaged – it darts like lightning!