I celebrate myself, and sing myself.
Fortune is the rod of the weak, and the staff of the brave.
And almost every one, when age, Disease, or sorrows strike him, Inclines to think there is a God, Or something very like him.
What a sense of security in an old book which time has criticized for us.
I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones.
Oh while I live, to be the ruler of life, not a slave, to meet life as a powerful conqueror, and nothing exterior to me will ever take command of me.
While your life is the true expression of your faith, whom can you fear?
The proof of a poet is that his country absorbs him as affectionately as he has absorbed it.
A great man is made up of qualities that meet or make great occasions.
I take refuge in my books.