It Is With Fiction As With Religion:

Let America Add Mexico To Texas, And Pile Cuba Upon Canada; Let The English Overswarm All India, And Hang Out Their Blazing Banner From The Sun; Two Thirds Of This Terraqueous Globe Are The Nantucketer's. For The Sea Is His; He Owns It.

Where Does Any Novelist Pick Up Any Character? For The Most Part, In Town, To Be Sure.

Man Is A Money-making Animal, Which Propensity Too Often Interferes With His Benevolence.

That Author Who Draws A Character, Even Though To Common View Incongruous In Its Parts, As The Flying-squirrel, And, At Differentperiods, As Much At Variance With Itself As The Caterpillar Is With The Butterfly Into Which It Changes, May Yet, In So Doing, Be Not False But Faithful To Facts.

Our Souls Belong To Our Bodies, Not Our Bodies To Our Souls.