Bigotry is chronic dogmatism.
The best style of writing, as well as the most forcible, is the plainest.
There is no doctrine of Christianity but what has been anticipated by the Vedas.
I do not regret having braved public opinion, when I knew it was wrong and was sure it would be merciless.
The best use of a journal is to print the largest practical amount of important truth: truth which tends to make mankind wiser, and thus happier.
I am too sick to be out of bed, too crazy to sleep, and am surrounded by horrors.
If any young man is about to commence the world, we say to him, publicly and privately, Go to the West.
We hope never to live in a Republic where one section is pinned to the other section by bayonets.
Wisdom is never dear, provided the article be genuine.
Washington is not a place to live in. The rents are high, the food is bad, the dust is disgusting and the morals are deplorable. Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.
There is no bigotry like that of “free thought” run to seed.
Go West, young man, go West and grow up with the country.
A widow of doubtful age will marry almost any sort of a white man.
Printer’s ink is the great apostle of progress, whose pulpit is the press.
No amount of preaching, exhortation, sympathy, benevolence, will render the condition of our working women what it should be, so long as the kitchen and needle are substantially their only resources.
Our country right or wrong is an evil motto – what if your country be in the wrong? It will only compound her injury. I wish to serve the republic with an honest and fearless criticism.
The illusion that times that were are better than those that are, has probably pervaded all ages.
The way we do things is to begin.
The word “rest” is not in my vocabulary.
Answering a letter from a church asking what else they should try after having failed to raise enough money on bake sales, bazaars, suppers, etc. Why not try religion?
Nine-tenths of the world is entertained by scandalous rumors, which are never dissected until they are dead and, when pricked, collapse like an empty bladder.