Sad Is His Lot, Who, Once At

Inspiration Is Solitary, Never Consecutive.

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)

The Impartiality Of History Is Not That Of The Mirror, Which Merely Reflects Objects, But Of The Judge, Who Sees, Listens, And Decides.

I Am The Fellow Citizen Of Every Being That Thinks; My Country Is Truth.

The Death Of A Man's Wife Is Like Cutting Down An Ancient Oak That Has Long Shaded The Family Mansion. Henceforth The Glare Of The World, With Its Cares And Vicissitudes Falls Upon The Old Widower's Heart, And There Is Nothing To Break Their Force, Or Shield Him From The Full Weight Of Misfortune. It Is As If His Right Hand Were Withered; As If One Wing Of His Angel Was Broken, And Every Movement That He Made Brought Him To The Ground.