He, Who Loves The Bristle Of Bayonets,

What You Are Shouts At Me So Loudly That I Can't Hear A Word You Say.

Thought And Knowledge Are Natures In Which Apparatus And Pretension Avail Nothing. Gowns, And Pecuniary Foundations, Though Of Towns Of Gold, Can Never Countervail The Least Sentence Or Syllable Of Wit. Forget This, And Out American Colleges Will Recede In Their Public Importance Whilst They Grow Richer Every Year.

The Narrow Sectarian Cannot Read Astronomy With Impunity. The Creeds Of His Church Shrivel Like Dried Leaves At The Door Of The Observatory.

In Art, The Hand Can Never Execute Anything Higher Than The Heart Can Imagine.

All My Hurts My Garden Spade Can Heal.