Men Are Misers, And Women

Let Us Love The Passing Hour, Let Us Hurry Up And Enjoy Our Time.

It Is Because Of The Servility Of Photography That I Am Fundamentally Contemptuous Of This Chance Invention Which Will Never Be An Art But Which Plagiarizes Nature By Means Of Optics. (1848)

I Am Persuaded That If The Brutes Even--if The Dog, The Horse, The Ox, The Elephant, The Bird, Could Speak, They Would Confess, That, At The Bottom Of Their Nature, Their Instincts, Their Sensations, Their Obtuse Intelligence, Assisted By Organs Less Perfect Than Ours, There Is A Clouded, Secret Sentiment Of This Existence Of A Superior And Primordial Being, From Whom All Emanates, And To Whom All Returns.

Let Us Enjoy The Fugitive Hour. Man Has No Harbor, Time Has No Shore; It Rushes On, And Carries Us With It.

Thou Makest The Man, O Sorrow!--yes, The Whole Man,--as The Crucible Gold.