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I believe that what so saddens the reformer is not his sympathy with his fellows in distress, but, though he be the holiest son of God, is his private ail. Let this be righted, let the spring come to him, the morning rise over his couch, and he will forsake his generous companions without apology.
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Nay, be a Columbus to whole new continents and worlds within you, opening new channels, not of trade, but of thought.
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Art may varnish and gild, but it can do no more.
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We read that the traveller asked the boy if the swamp before him had a hard bottom. The boy replied that it had. But presently the traveller's...
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Always you have to contend with the stupidity of men.
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