For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. Travelling is a fool's paradise. Our first journeys discover to us the indifference of places. By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, Here once the embattled farmers stood And fired the shot heard round the world. But, in fact, they are perpetually passing into one another.
Fluid hardens to solid, solid rushes to fluid.
There is no wholly masculine man, no purely feminine woman. By far the larger part of the slaves know as little of their ages as horses know of theirs, and it is the wish of most masters withing my knowledge to keep their slaves thus ignorant. Sir, I have n't any country, any more than I have any father. But I'm going to have one. The sky seemed a gray surtout.