The sun, the earth, love, friends, our very breath are parts of the banquet.
War may be an armed angel with a mission, but she has the personal habits of the slums.
For, after all, put it as we may to ourselves, we are all of us from birth to death guests at a table which we did not spread.
You were only truly patriotic if you had a laborer for a grandfather and were glad of it.
Reform is born of need, not pity.
I went to Concord, a young woman from the backwoods, firm in belief that Emerson was the first of living men. He was the modern Moses who had talked with God apart and could interpret Him to us.
It is a good rule never to see or talk to the man whose words have wrung your heart, or helped it, just as it is wise not to look down too closely at the luminous glow which sometimes shines on your path on a summer night, if you would not see the ugly worm below.
Our young people have come to look upon war as a kind of beneficent deity, which not only adds to the national honor but uplifts a nation and develops patriotism and courage.
Sitting by the chimney corner as we grow old, the commonest things around us take on live meanings and hint at the difference between these driving times and the calm, slow moving days when we were young.
We don't often look into these unpleasant details of our great struggle. We all prefer to think that every man who wore the blue or gray was a Philip Sidney at heart.
America may have great poets and novelists, but she never will have more than one necromancer.
But remember, I am no politician, and no seer into souls.
But, after all, we are a young nation, and vanity is a fault of youth.
Crime, to the man of the forties, was an alien monstrous terror.
Every child was taught from his cradle that money was Mammon, the chief agent of the flesh and the devil.
It has happened to me to meet many of the men of my day whom the world agreed to call great.
It was part of your religion to hate the British.
No man surely has so short a memory as the American.
North and South were equally confident that God was on their side, and appealed incessantly to Him.
The only hero known to my childhood was Henry Clay.