Everything Is Made Of One Hidden Stuff.

We Read Often With As Much Talent As We Write.

What Is Well Done, I Feel As If I Did; What Is Ill-done, I Reck Not Of.

In Our Large Cities, The Population Is Godless, Materialized,--no Bond, No Fellow-feeling, No Enthusiasm. These Are Not Men, But Hungers, Thirsts, Fevers, And Appetites Walking. How Is It People Manage To Live On,--so Aimless As They Are? After Their Peppercorn Aims Are Gained, It Seems As If The Lime In Their Bones Alone Held Them Together, And Not Any Worthy Purpose.

Conservatism Stands On Man's Confessed Limitations; Reform On His Indisputable Infinitude; Conservatism On Circumstance; Liberalism On Power; One Goes To Make An Adroit Member Of The Social Frame; The Other To Postpone All Things To The Man Himself.

Every Great Man Is A Unique. The Scipionism Of Scipio Is Precisely That Part He Could Not Borrow.