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There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
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We loved with a love that was more than love.
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Man’s real life is happy, chiefly because he is ever expecting that it soon will be so.
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The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
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Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of the intelligence.
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The nose of a mob is its imagination. By this, at any time, it can be quietly led.
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All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night.
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The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
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To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness.
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I have great faith in fools self-confidence my friends call it.
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It is by no means an irrational fancy that, in a future existence, we shall look upon what we think our present existence, as a dream.
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There is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
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All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
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I have great faith in fools self-confidence my friends call it.
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I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
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Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.
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The ninety and nine are with dreams, content but the hope of the world made new, is the hundredth man who is grimly bent on making those dreams come true.
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Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
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The death of a beautiful woman, is unquestionably the most poetical topic in the world.