Some hours seem not to be occasion for anything, unless for great resolves to draw breath and repose in, so religiously do we postpone all action therein. We do not straight go about to execute our thrilling purpose, but shut our doors behind us, and saunter with prepared mind, as if the half were already done.[1]
Sometimes a day serves only to hold time together.[2]
Sept. 12. Sunday.
Where I have been
There was none seen.
Sept. 14. No bravery is to be named with that which can face its own deeds.
In religion there is no society.
Do not dissect a man till he is dead.
Love does not analyze its object.
We do not know the number of muscles in a caterpillar dead; much less the faculties of a man living.
You must believe that I know before you can tell me.
To the highest communication I can make no reply; I lend only a silent ear.
