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The beautiful laws of time and space, once dislocated by our inaptitude, are holes and dens. If the hive be disturbed by rash and stupid hands, instead of honey, it will yield us bees.
The believing we do something when we do nothing is the first illusion of tobacco.
The best of life is conversation.
The bitter-sweet, the haunting air
Creepeth, bloweth everywhere;
It preys on all, all prey on it,
Blooms in beauty, thinks in wit,
Stings the strong with enterprise,
Makes travellers long for Indian skies.
The borrower runs in his own debt.
The charm of fine manners is music and sculpture and picture to many who do not pretend to appreciation of these arts.
The charming landscape which I saw this morning is indubitably made up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that, and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give no title.
The cheapness of man is every day's tragedy.
The clergyman who lives in the city may have piety, but he must have taste.
The craft with which the world is made runs also into the mind and character of men. No man is quite sane; each has a vein of folly in his composition, a slight determination of blood to the head, to make sure of holding him hard to some one point which Nature has taken to heart.
The creation of a thousand forests is in one acorn.
The crowning fortune of a man is to be born to some pursuit which finds him employment and happiness, whether it be to make baskets, or broad swords, or canals, or statues, or songs.
The cruelest foe is a masked benefactor. The wars which make history so dreary have served the cause of truth and virtue.
The days are made on a loom whereof the warp and woof are past and future time. They are majestically dressed, as if every god brought a thread to the skyey web.
The days come and go like muffled and veiled figures sent from a distant friendly party, but they say nothing, and if we do not use the gifts they bring, they carry them as silently away.
The disease with which the human mind now labors is want of faith.
The domestic man, who loves no music so well as his kitchen clock, and the airs which the logs sing to him as they burn on the hearth, has solaces which others never dream of.
The earth is a machine which yields almost gratuitous service to every application of intellect. Every plant is a manufacturer of soil. In the stomach of the plant development begins. The tree can draw on the whole air, the whole earth, on all the rolling main. The plant is all suction-pipe,--imbibing from the ground by its root, from the air by its leaves, with all its might.
The effects of opposition are wonderful. There are men who rise refreshed on hearing of a threat; men to whom a crisis which intimidates and paralyzes the majority--demanding, not the faculties of prudence and thrift, but comprehension, immovableness, the readiness of sacrifice,--comes graceful and beloved as a bride.
The eloquent man is he who is no eloquent speaker, but who is inwardly drunk with a certain belief.
The essence of friendship is entireness, a total magnanimity and trust.
The experience of each new age requires a new confession, and the world seems always waiting for its poet.
The eyes indicate the antiquity of the soul.
The finest and noblest ground on which people can live is truth; the real with the real; a ground on which nothing is assumed.
The finest wits have their sediment.
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