Nature never writes a blind hand.
The spirit of a person’s life is ever shedding some power, just as a flower is steadily bestowing fragrance upon the air.
Nature is hieroglyphic. Each prominent fact in it is like a type; its final use is to set up one letter of the infinite alphabet, and help us by its connections to read some statement or statute applicable to the conscious world.
It is strange. I see all the privileges and greatness of the future. It already looks grand, beautiful. Tell them I went lovingly, trustfully, peacefully.
Be sure of the foundation of your life. Know why you live as you do. Be ready to give a reason for it. Do not, in such a matter as life, build an opinion or custom on what you guess is true. Make it a matter of certainty and science.
Leaves are the Greek, flowers the Italian, phase of the spirit of beauty that reveals itself through the flora of the globe.
Though I weigh only 120 pounds, when I’m mad, I weigh a ton.
What a privilege it is to be an American!
By cultivating an interest in a few good books which contain the result of the toil or the quintessence of the genius of some of the most gifted thinkers of the world, we need not live on the marsh and in the mists. The slopes and ridges invite us.
The oak roars when a high wind wrestles with it; the beech shrieks; the elm sends forth a long, deep groan; the ash pours out moans of thrilling anguish.
Great eloquence we cannot get, except from human genius.