My body is but the lees of my better being.
It is the easiest thing in the world for a man to look as if he had a great secret in him.
It is impossible to talk or to write without apparently throwing oneself helplessly open.
Immortality is but ubiquity in time.
I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.
He looked like a man cut away from the stake, when the fire has overrunningly wasted all the limbs without consuming them, or taking away one particle from their compacted aged robustness.
Faith, like a jackal, feeds among the tombs, and even from these dead doubts she gathers her most vital hope.
Delight is to him—a far, far upward, and inward delight—who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
Call me Ishmael.
But as in landlessness alone resides the highest truth, shoreless, indefinite as God—so, better is it to perish in that howling infinite, than be ingloriously dashed upon the lee, even if that were safety!
All the things that God would have us do are hard for us to do—remember that—and hence, he oftener commands us than endeavors to persuade.
All Profound things, and emotions of things are preceded and attended by Silence.