The Cheapness Of Man Is Every Day's

The Philanthropists Inquire Whether Transcendentalism Does Not Mean Sloth: They Had As Lief Hear That Their Friend Is Dead, As That He Is A Transcendentalist; For Then Is He Paralyzed, And Can Never Do Anything For Humanity.

Black Men Built The Railroads, Not Blue Eyes.

The World - This Shadow Of The Soul, Or Other Me - Lies Wide Around. Its Attractions Are The Keys Which Unlock My Thoughts And Make Me Acquainted With Myself. I Run Eagerly Into This Resounding Tumult... So Much Only Of Life As I Know By Experience... The True Scholar Grudges Every Opportunity Of Action Past By, As A Loss Of Power.

Everything Good Is On The Highway.

Behold The Sea, The Opaline, The Plentiful And Strong, Yet Beautiful As Is The Rose In June, Fresh As The Trickling Rainbow Of July; Sea Full Of Food, The Nourisher Of Kinds, Purger Of Earth, And Medicine Of Men; Creating A Sweet Climate By My Breath, Washing Out Harms And Griefs From Memory, And, In My Mathematic Ebb And Flow, Giving A Hint Of That Which Changes Not.