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Painful For A Person Is Rebellious Independence, Only In Loving Companionship With His Associates Does A Person Feel Safe: Only In Reverently Bowing Down Before The Higher Does A Person Feel Exalted.

-Thomas Carlyle

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Painful For A Person

Thomas Carlyle

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Painful For A Person Is Rebellious Independence, Only In Loving Companionship With His Associates Does A Person Feel Safe: Only In Reverently Bowing Down Before The Higher Does A Person Feel Exalted.

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The True Past Departs Not, No Truth Or Goodness Realized By Man Ever Dies, Or Can Die; But All Is Still Here, And, Recognized Or Not, Lives And Works Through Endless Change.

If I Say That Shakespeare Is The Greatest Of Intellects, I Have Said All Concerning Him. But There Is More In Shakespeare's Intellect Than We Have Yet Seen. It Is What I Call An Unconscious Intellect; There Is More Virtue In It That He Himself Is Aware Of.

Fancy That Thou Deservest To Be Hangedthou Wilt Feel It Happiness To Be Only Shot: Fancy That Thou Deservest To Be Hanged Ina Hair Halter, It Will Be A Luxury To Die In Hemp.

That There Should One Man Die Ignorant Who Had Capacity For Knowledge, This I Call A Tragedy.

I Have Seen Gleams In The Face And Eyes Of The Man That Have Let You Look Into A Higher Country.

There Is A Majesty And Mystery In Nature, Take Her As You Will. The Essence Of Poetry Comes Breathing To A Mind That Feels From Every Province Of Her Empire.

The Great Law Of Culture Is, Let Each Become All That He Was Created Capable Of Being; Expand, If Possible, To His Full Growth; Resisting All Impediments, Casting Off All Foreign, Especially All Noxious Adhesions, And Show Himself At Length In His Own Shape And Stature Be These What They May.

Naps Are A Way Of Traveling Painlessly Through Time Into The Future.

Man Is, Properly Speaking, Based Upon Hope, He Has No Other Possession But Hope; This World Of His Is Emphatically The Place Of Hope.

The Nobleness Of Silence. The Highest Melody Dwells Only In Silence,--the Sphere Melody, The Melody Of Health.

Shakespeare Says, We Are Creatures That Look Before And After; The More Surprising That We Do Not Look Around A Little, And See What Is Passing Under Our Very Eyes.

O Thou Who Art Able To Write A Book Which Once In The Two Centuries Or Oftener There Is A Man Gifted To Do, Envy Not Him Whom They Name City-builder, And Inexpressibly Pity Him Whom They Name Conqueror Or City-burner.

Experience Of Actual Fact Either Teaches Fools Or Abolishes Them.

All True Work Is Sacred.

The Person Who Cannot Laugh Is Not Only Ready For Treason, And Deceptions, Their Whole Life Is Already A Treason And Deception.

Great Men Are The Commissioned Guides Of Mankind, Who Rule Their Fellows Because They Are Wiser.

Rare Benevolence, The Minister Of God.

Heroes, It Would Seem, Exist Always And A Certain Worship Of Them.

In Every Object There Is Inexhaustible Meaning; The Eye Sees In It What The Eye Brings Means Of Seeing.

The Modern Majesty Consists In Work. What A Man Can Do Is His Greatest Ornament, And He Always Consults His Dignity By Doing It.

Piety Does Not Mean That A Man Should Make A Sour Face About Things, And Refuse To Enjoy In Moderation What His Maker Has Given.

O Heaven, It Is Mysterious, It Is Awful To Consider That We Not Only Carry Each A Future Ghost Within Him; But Are, In Very Deed, Ghosts!

A Thinking Man Is The Worst Enemy The Prince Of Darkness Can Have; Every Time Such An One Announces Himself, I Doubt Not There Runs A Shudder Through The Nether Empire; And New Emissaries Are Trained With New Tactics, To, If Possible, Entrap And Hoodwink And Handcuff Him.

The Essence Of Humor Is Sensibility; Warm, Tender Fellow-feeling With All Forms Of Existence.

The Wise Man Is But A Clever Infant, Spelling Letters From A Hieroglyphical Prophetic Book, The Lexicon Of Which Lies In Eternity.

All Great Peoples Are Conservative.

If What You Have Done Is Unjust, You Have Not Succeeded.

The Depth Of Our Despair Measures What Capability And Height Of Claim We Have To Hope.

Scarcely Two Hundred Years Back Can Fame Recollect Articulately At All; And There She But Maunders And Mumbles.

Midas-eared Mammonism, Double-barrelled Dilettantism, And Their Thousand Adjuncts And Corollaries, Are Not The Law By Which God Almighty Has Appointed This His Universe To Go.

Rightly Viewed No Meanest Object Is Insignificant; All Objects Are As Windows Through Which The Philosophic Eye Looks Into Infinitude Itself.

Man, It Is Not Thy Works, Which Are Mortal, Infinitely Little, And The Greatest No Greater Than The Least, But Only The Spirit Thou Workest In, That Can Have Worth Or Continuance.

Courtesy Is The Due Of Man To Man; Not Of Suit-of-clothes To Suit-of-clothes.

The Sincere Alone Can Recognize Sincerity.

We Are To Take No Counsel With Flesh And Blood; Give Ear To No Vain Cavils, Vain Sorrows And Wishes; To Know That We Know Nothing, That The Worst And Cruelest To Our Eyes Is Not What It Seems, That We Have To Receive Whatsoever Befalls Us As Sent From God Above, And Say, "it Is Good And Wise,--god Is Great! Though He Slay Me, Yet I Trust In Him." Islam Means, In Its Way, Denial Of Self. This Is Yet The Highest Wisdom That Heaven Has Revealed To Our Earth.

Of All The Things Which Man Can Do Or Make Here Below, By Far The Most Momentous, Wonderful, And Worthy Are The Things We Call Books.

Little Other Than A Red Tape Talking-machine, And Unhappy Bag Of Parliamentary Eloquence.

Heroes Have Gone Out; Quacks Have Come In; The Reign Of Quacks Has Not Ended With The Nineteenth Century. The Sceptre Is Held With A Firmer Grasp; The Empire Has A Wider Boundary. We Are All The Slaves Of Quackery In One Shape Or Another. Indeed, One Portion Of Our Being Is Always Playing The Successful Quack To The Other.

For Suffering And Enduring There Is No Remedy, But Striving And Doing.

Pain And Suffering

There Is No Life Of A Man, Faithfully Recorded, But Is A Heroic Poem Of Its Sort, Rhymed Or Unrhymed.

There Is But One Thing Without Honor, Smitten With Eternal Barrenness, Inability To Do Or To Be,-insincerity, Unbelief.

The Scandalous Bronze-lacquer Age Of Hungry Animalisms, Spiritual Impotences, And Mendacities, Will Have To Run Its Course, Till The Pit Follow It.

If You Will Believe Me, You Who Are Young, Yours Is The Golden Season Of Life. As You Have Heard It Called, So It Verily Is, The Seed-time Of Life; In Which, If You Do Not Sow, Or If You Sow Tares Instead Of Wheat, You Cannot Expect To Reap Well Afterwards, And You Will Arrive At Little. And In The Course Of Years When You Come To Look Back, If You Have Not Done What You Have Heard From Your Advisers,-and Among Many Counsellors There Is Wisdom,-you Will Bitterly Repent When It Is Too Late.

Why Multiply Instances? It Is Written, The Heavens And The Earth Shall Fade Away Like A Vesture; Which Indeed They Are: The Time-vesture Of The Eternal. Whatsoever Sensibly Exists, Whatsoever Represents Spirit To Spirit, Is Properly A Clothing, A Suit Of Raiment, Put On For A Season, And To Be Laid Off. Thus In This One Pregnant Subject Of Clothes, Rightly Understood, Is Included All That Men Have Thought, Dreamed, Done, And Been: The Whole External Universe And What It Holds Is But Clothing; And The Essence Of All Science Lies In The Philosophy Of Clothes.

We Have Chosen Mahomet Not As The Most Eminent Prophet; But As The One We Are Freest To Speak Of. He Is By No Means The Truest Of Prophets; But I Do Esteem Him A True One.

Speech Is Too Often Not The Art Of Concealing Thought, But Of Quite Stifling And Suspending Thought, So That There Is None To Conceal.

No Man Is Born Without Ambitious Worldly Desires.

Men Are To Be Guided Only By Their Self-interests. Good Government Is A Good Balancing Of These; And, Except A Keen Eye And Appetite For Self-interest, Requires No Virtue In Any Quarter. To Both Parties It Is Emphatically A Machine: To The Discontented, A Taxing-machine; To The Contented, A Machine For Securing Property. Its Duties And Its Faults Are Not Those Of A Father, But Of An Active Parish-constable.

A Collection Of Books Is The Best Of All Universities.

The Greatest Security Against Sin Is To Be Shocked At Its Presence.

If You Do Not Wish A Man To Do A Thing, You Had Better Get Him To Talk About It; For The More Men Talk, The More Likely They Are To Do Nothing Else.

There Are Good And Bad Times, But Our Mood Changes More Often Than Our Fortune.

A Man With A Half Volition Goes Backwards And Forwards, And Makes No Way On The Smoothest Road; A Man With A Whole Volition Advances On The Roughest, And Will Reach His Purpose, If There Be Even A Little Worthiness In It. The Man Without A Purpose Is Like A Ship Without A Rudder - A Waif, A Nothing, A No Man. Have A Purpose In Life And Having It, Throw Such Strength Of Mind And Muscle Into Your Work As God Has Given You.

A Noble Book! All Men's Book!

On The Whole, I Would Bid You Stand Up To Your Work, Whatever It May Be, And Not Be Afraid Of It; Not In Sorrows Or Contradictions To Yield, But To Push On Towards The Goal.

War Is A Quarrel Between Two Thieves Too Cowardly To Fight Their Own Battle; Therefore They Take Boys From One Village And Another Village, Stick Them Into Uniforms, Equip Them With Guns, And Let Them Loose Like Wild Beasts Against One Other.

Man Is Emphatically A Proselytizing Creature.

Out Of The Lowest Depths There Is A Path To The Loftiest Heights.

Freedom Is The One Purport, Wisely Aimed At, Or Unwisely, Of All Man's Struggles, Toilings And Sufferings, In This Earth.

A Poor Creature Who Has Said Or Done Nothing Worth A Serious Man Taking The Trouble Of Remembering.

Music Is Well Said To Be The Speech Of Angels.

I Had A Lifelong Quarrel With God, But In The End We Made Up.

No Country Can Find Eternal Peace And Comfort Where The Vote Of Judas Iscariot Is As Good As The Vote Of The Saviour Of Mankind.

Nothing Ever Happens But Once In All This World. What I Do Now I Do Once For All. It Is Over And Gone, With All Its Eternity Of Solemn Meaning.

Egotism Is The Source And Summary Of All Faults And Miseries.

Laws, Written, If Not On Stone Tables, Yet On The Azure Of Infinitude, In The Inner Heart Of God's Creation, Certain As Life, Certain As Death, Are There, And Thou Shalt Not Disobey Them.

Books Are A Triviality. Life Alone Is Great.

To The Wisest Man, Wide As Is His Vision. Nature Remains Of Quite Infinite Depth, Of Quite Infinite Expansion And All Experience Thereof Limits Itself To Some Few Computed Centuries And Measured Square Miles.

Laughter Means Sympathy.

History After All Is The True Poetry.

Thirty Millions, Mostly Fools.

Narrative Is Linear, But Action Has Breadth And Depth As Well As Height And Is Solid.

Society Is Founded On Hero-worship.

Heroism Is The Divine Relation Which, In All Times, Unites A Great Man To Other Men.

No Man Who Has Once Heartily And Wholly Laughed Can Be Altogether Irreclaimably Bad.

No Sadder Proof Can Be Given By A Man Of His Own Littleness Than Disbelief In Great Men.

The Lightning Spark Of Thought Generated In The Solitary Mind Awakens Its Likeness In Another Mind.

What Is All Knowledge Too But Recorded Experience, And A Product Of History; Of Which, Therefore, Reasoning And Belief, No Less Than Action And Passion, Are Essential Materials?

Misery Which, Through Long Ages, Had No Spokesman, No Helper, Will Now Be Its Own Helper And Speak For Itself.

All Comes Out Even At The End Of The Day.

The End Of The Day

The Healthy Know Not Of Their Health, But Only The Sick: This Is The Physician's Aphorism, And Applicable In A Far Wider Sense Than He Gives It.

Show Me The Man You Honor; I Know By That Symptom, Better Than By Any Other, What Kind Of Man You Yourself Are. For You Show Me There What Your Ideal Of Manhood Is; What Kind Of Man You Long Inexpressibly To Be.

All Men, If They Work Not As In The Great Taskmaster's Eye, Will Work Wrong, And Work Unhappily For Themselves And For You.

Properly Speaking, All True Work Is Religion.

Our Works Are The Mirror Wherein The Spirit First Sees Its Natural Lineaments. Hence, Too, The Folly Of That Impossible Precept, Know Theyself; Till It Be Translated Into This Partially Possible One, Know What Thou Canst Work At.

Silence Is As Deep As Eternity, Speech A Shallow As Time.

He That Can Work Is Born To Be King Of Something.

There Is Something In Man Which Your Science Cannot Satisfy.

Skepticism . . . Is Not Intellectual Only It Is Moral Also, A Chronic Atrophy And Disease Of The Whole Soul.

Of All God's Creatures, Man Alone Is Poor.

Poetry Is The Attempt Which Man Makes To Render His Existence Harmonious.

Reality, If Rightly Interpreted, Is Grander Than Fiction.

That Monstrous Tuberosity Of Civilised Life, The Capital Of England.

Originality Is A Thing We Constantly Clamour For, And Constantly Quarrel With.

Funny Basketball

A Man Willing To Work, And Unable To Find Work, Is Perhaps The Saddest Sight That Fortune's Inequality Exhibits Under This Sun.

Rest Is A Fine Medicine. Let Your Stomachs Rest, Ye Dyspeptics; Let Your Brain Rest, You Wearied And Worried People Of Business; Let Your Limbs Rest, Ye Children Of Toil!

What We Become Depends On What We Read After All Of The Professors Have Finished With Us. The Greatest University Of All Is A Collection Of Books.

Humor Has Justly Been Regarded As The Finest Perfection Of Poetic Genius.

It Is Meritorious To Insist On Forms; Religion And All Else Naturally Clothes Itself In Forms. Everywhere The Formed World Is The Only Habitable One.

The Soul Gives Unity To What It Looks At With Love.

The Christian Must Be Consumed By The Conviction Of The Infinite Beauty Of Holiness And The Infinite Damnability Of Sin.

Infinite Beauty

With Respect To Duels, Indeed, I Have My Own Ideas. Few Things In This So Surprising World Strike Me With More Surprise. Two Little Visual Spectra Of Men, Hovering With Insecure Enough Cohesion In The Midst Of The Unfathomable, And To Dissolve Therein, At Any Rate, Very Soon, Make Pause At The Distance Of Twelve Paces Asunder; Whirl Around, And Simultaneously By The Cunningest Mechanism, Explode One Another Into Dissolution; And, Offhand, Become Air, And Non-extant--the Little Spitfires!

Creation Is Great, And Cannot Be Understood.

Blessed Is He Who Has Found His Work; Let Him Ask No Other Blessedness. He Has A Work, A Life-purpose... Get Your Happiness Out Of Your Work Or You Will Never Know What Real Happiness Is... Even In The Meanest Sorts Of Labour, The Whole Soul Of A Man Is Composed Into A Kind Of Real Harmony The Instant He Sets Himself To Work!

Authors Are The Vanguard In The March Of Mind, The Intellectual Backwoodsmen, Reclaiming From The Idle Wilderness New Territories For The Thought And Activity Of Their Happier Brethren.

Does It Ever Give Thee Pause That Men Used To Have A Soul? Not By Hearsay Alone, Or As A Figure Of Speech, But As A Thruth That They Knew And Acted Upon. Verily It Was Another World Then, But Yet It Is A Pity We Have Lost The Tidings Of Our Souls. We Shall Have To Go In Search Of Them Again Or Worse In All Ways Shall Befall Us.

History: A Distillation Of Rumor.

Good Breeding Differs, If At All, From High Breeding Only As It Gracefully Remembers The Rights Of Others, Rather Than Gracefully Insists On Its Own Rights.

What I Loved In The Man Was His Health, His Unity With Himself; All People And All Things Seemed To Find Their Quite Peaceable Adjustment With Him, Not A Proud Domineering One, As After Doubtful Contest, But A Spontaneous-looking Peaceable, Even Humble One.

Fame, We May Understand, Is No Sure Test Of Merit, But Only A Probability Of Such; It Is An Accident, Not A Property Of Man.

I Call That [book Of Job], Apart From All Theories About It, One Of The Grandest Things Ever Written With Pen.

A Dandy Is A Clothes-wearing Man--a Man Whose Trade, Office, And Existence Consist In The Wearing Of Clothes. Every Faculty Of His Soul, Spirit, Person And Purse Is Heroically Consecrated To This One Object--the Wearing Of Clothes, Wisely And Well; So That, As Others Dress To Live, He Lives To Dress.

The Greatest Fault Is To Be Conscious Of None.

Speak Not At All, In Any Wise, Till You Have Somewhat To Speak; Care Not For The Reward Of Your Speaking, But Simply And With Undivided Mind For The Truth Of Your Speaking.

Thou Fool! Nature Alone Is Antique, And The Oldest Art A Mushroom; That Idle Crag Thou Sittest On Is Six Thousand Years Of Age.

Social Science, Is Not A 'gay Science' But Rueful, Which Finds The Secret Of This Universe In 'supply And Demand' And Reduces The Duty Of Human Governors To That Of Letting Men Alone. Not A 'gay Science', No, A Dreary, Desolate, And Indeed Quite Abject And Distressing One; What We Might Call, The Dismal Science

He That Has Done Nothing Has Known Nothing.

There Is But One Temple In This Universe: The Body. We Speak To God Whenever We Lay Our Hands Upon It.

Speech That Leads Not To Action, Still More That Hinders It, Is A Nuisance On The Earth.

A Man's Perfection Is His Work.

What Is Philosophy But A Continual Battle Against Custom?

All Evil Is Like A Nightmare; The Instant You Stir Under It, The Evil Is Gone.

The Past Is All Holy To Us; The Dead Are All Holy; Even They That Were Wicked When Alive.

Man's Unhappiness, As I Construe, Comes Of His Greatness; It Is Because There Is An Infinite In Him, With Which All His Cunning He Cannot Quite Bury Under The Finite... Try Him With Half Of A Universe, Of An Omnipotence, He Sets To Quarreling With The Proprietor Of The Other Half, And Declares Himself The Most Maltreated Of Men. Always There Is A Black Spot In Our Sunshine: It Is Even, As I Said, The Shadow Of Ourselves.

Conclusive Facts Are Inseparable From Inconclusive Except By A Head That Already Understands And Knows.

The Devil Has His Elect.

Biography Is The Only True History.

Respectable Professors Of The Dismal Science.

The Best Effect Of Any Book Is That It Excites The Reader To Self Activity.

History Is Philosophy Teaching By Experience.

History Is The Essence Of Innumerable Biographies.

Lives The Man That Can Figure A Naked Duke Of Windlestraw Addressing A Naked House Of Lords?

The Great Man's Sincerity Is Of The Kind He Cannot Speak Of, Is Not Conscious Of: Nay, I Suppose, He Is Conscious Rather Of Insincerity; For What Man Can Walk Accurately By The Law Of Truth For One Day? No, The Great Man Does Not Boast Himself Sincere, Far From That; Perhaps Does Not Ask Himself If He Is So: I Would Say Rather, His Sincerity Does Not Depend On Himself; He Cannot Help Being Sincere!

There Must Be A New World If There Is To Be Any World At All!... These Days Of Universal Death Must Be Days Of Universal New Birth, If The Ruin Is Not To Be Total And Final! It Is Time To Make The Dullest Man Consider; And Ask Himself, Whence He Came? Whither He Is Bound?

Men's Hearts Ought Not To Be Set Against One Another, But Set With One Another And All Against Evil Only.

All Greatness Is Unconscious, Or It Is Little And Naught.

What Are Your Historical Facts Still More Your Biographical Wilt Thou Know A Man By Stringing-together Beadrolls Of What Thou Namest Facts

The End Of Man Is Action.

Hero-worship Exists, Has Existed, And Will Forever Exist, Universally, Among Mankind.

To Say That We Have A Clear Conscience Is To Utter A Solecism; Had We Never Sinned We Should Have Had No Conscience. Were Defeat Unknown, Neither Would Victory Be Celebrated By Songs Of Triumph.

Stern Accuracy In Inquiring, Bold Imagination In Describing, These Are The Cogs On Which History Soars Or Flutters And Wobbles.

No Good Book Or Good Thing Of Any Kind Shows It Best Face At First. No The Most Common Quality Of In A True Work Of Art That Has Excellence And Depth, Is That At First Sight It Produces A Certain Disappointment.

So Much Of Truth, Only Under An Ancient Obsolete Vesture, But The Spirit Of It Still True, Do I Find In The Paganism Of Old Nations. Nature Is Still Divine, The Revelation Of The Workings Of God; The Hero Is Still Worshipable: This, Under Poor Cramped Incipient Forms, Is What All Pagan Religions Have Struggled, As They Could, To Set Forth.

In Every Object There Is Inexhaustible Meaning.

Macaulay Is Well For Awhile, But One Wouldn't Live Under Niagara.

Intellect Is The Soul Of Man, The Only Immortal Part Of Him.

The Beginning Of All Wisdom Is To Look Fixedly On Clothes, Or Even With Armed Eyesight, Till They Become Transparent.

Oblivion Is The Dark Page, Whereon Memory Writes Her Light-beam Characters, And Makes Them Legible; Were It All Light, Nothing Could Be Read There, Any More Than If It Were All Darkness.

Permanence, Perseverance And Persistence In Spite Of All Obstacle S, Discouragement S, And Impossibilities: It Is This, That In All Things Distinguishes The Strong Soul From The Weak.

The Bible Is The Truest Utterance That Ever Came By Alphabetic Letters From The Soul Of Man, Through Which, As Through A Window Divinely Opened, All Men Can Look Into The Stillness Of Eternity, And Discern In Glimpses Their Far-distant, Long-forgotten Home.

Look To Be Treated By Others As You Have Treated Others.

Who Is It That Loves Me And Will Love Me Forever With An Affection Which No Chance, No Misery, No Crime Of Mine Can Do Away? It Is You, My Mother.

It Is A Vain Hope To Make People Happy By Politics.

The Aristocracy Of Feudal Parchment Has Passed Away With A Mighty Rushing, And Now, By A Natural Course, We Arrive At Aristocracy Of The Money-bag.

Infinite Is The Help Man Can Yield To Man.

The Insignificant, The Empty, Is Usually The Loud; And After The Manner Of A Drum, Is Louder Even Because Of Its Emptiness.

You Can Make Even A Parrot Into A Learned Political Economist - All He Must Learn Are The Two Words "supply" And "demand."

I Never Heard Tell Of Any Clever Man That Came Of Entirely Stupid People.

Conviction Is Worthless Unless It Is Converted Into Conduct.

Instead Of Saying That Man Is The Creature Of Circumstance, It Would Be Nearer The Mark To Say That Man Is The Architect Of Circumstance. It Is Character Which Builds An Existence Out Of Circumstance. From The Same Materials One Man Builds Palaces, Another Hovels; One Warehouses, Another Villas; Bricks And Mortar Are Mortar And Bricks Until The Architect Can Make Them Something Else.

Bricks And Mortar

A Man's Felicity Consists Not In The Outward And Visible Blessing Of Fortune, But In The Inward And Unseen Perfections And Riches Of The Mind.

It Is The First Of All Problems For A Man To Find Out What Kind Of Work He Is To Do In This Universe.

Nay, In Every Epoch Of The World, The Great Event, Parent Of All Others, Is It Not The Arrival Of A Thinker In The World?

Everywhere In Life, The True Question Is Not What We Gain, But What We Do.

Thought Will Not Work Except In Silence.

The World Is A Republic Of Mediocrities, And Always Was.

Clever Men Are Good, But They Are Not The Best.

'genius' Which Means Transcendent Capacity Of Taking Trouble, First Of All.

If There Be Not A Religious Element In The Relations Of Men, Such Relations Are Miserable And Doomed To Ruin.

Is Not Every Meanest Day The Confluence Of Two Eternities?

O Time! Time! How It Brings Forth And Devours! And The Roaring Flood Of Existence Rushes On Forever Similar, Forever Changing!

Everywhere The Human Soul Stands Between A Hemisphere Of Light And Another Of Darkness On The Confines Of Two Everlasting Empires, - Necessity And Free Will.

Might And Right Do Differ Frightfully From Hour To Hour, But Then Centuries To Try It In, They Are Found To Be Identical.

Love Is Ever The Beginning Of Knowledge As Fire Is Of Light.

He Who Could Foresee Affairs Three Days In Advance Would Be Rich For Thousands Of Years.

Under All Speech That Is Good For Anything There Lies A Silence That Is Better, Silence Is Deep As Eternity; Speech Is Shallow As Time.

No Ghost Was Every Seen By Two Pair Of Eyes.

With Union Grounded On Falsehood And Ordering Us To Speak And Act Lies, We Will Not Have Anything To Do. Peace? A Brutal Lethargy Is Peaceable; The Noisome Is Peaceable. We Hope For A Living Peace, Not A Dead One!

It's A Man's Sincerity And Depth Of Vision That Makes Him A Poet.

Do Nothing, Only Keep Agitating, Debating; And Things Will Destroy Themselves.

Blessed Is He Who Has Found His Work; Let Him Ask No Other Blessedness. He Has A Work, A Life-purpose; He Has Found It, And Will Follow It! How, As A Free-flowing Channel, Dug And Torn By Noble Force Through The Sour Mudswamp Of One's Existence, Like An Ever-deepening River There, It Runs And Flows

In The True Literary Man There Is Thus Ever, Acknowledged Or Not By The World, A Sacredness: He Is The Light Of The World; The World's Priest; -- Guiding It, Like A Sacred Pillar Of Fire, In Its Dark Pilgrimage Through The Waste Of Time.

Happy Season Of Virtuous Youth, When Shame Is Still An Impassable Barrier, And The Sacred Air-cities Of Hope Have Not Shrunk Into The Mean Clay Hamlets Of Reality; And Man, By His Nature, Is Yet Infinite And Free.

No Violent Extreme Endures.

A Fourth Estate, Of Able Editors, Springs Up.

Does Not Every True Man Feel That He Is Himself Made Higher By Doing Reverence To What Is Really Above Him?

It Is Not To Taste Sweet Things; But To Do Noble And True Things, And Vindicate Himself Under God's Heaven As A God-made Man, That The Poorest Son Of Adam Dimly Longs. Show Him The Way Of Doing That, The Dullest Day-drudge Kindles Into A Hero. They Wrong Man Greatly Who Say He Is To Be Seduced By Ease. Difficulty, Abnegation, Martyrdom, Death, Are The Allurements That Act On The Heart Of Man. Kindle The Inner Genial Life Of Him, You Have A Flame That Burns Up All Lower Considerations.

It Were A Real Increase Of Human Happiness, Could All Young Men From The Age Of Nineteen Be Covered Under Barrels, Or Rendered Otherwise Invisible; And There Left To Follow Their Lawful Studies And Callings, Till They Emerged, Sadder And Wiser, At The Age Of Twenty-five.

Nothing Is More Terrible Than Activity Without Insight.

One Is Hardly Sensible Of Fatigue While He Marches To Music.

A Man Cannot Make A Pair Of Shoes Rightly Unless He Do It In A Devout Manner.

History Is The Distillation Of Rumour.

Not Only Was Thebes Built By The Music Of An Orpheus; But Without The Music Of Some Inspired Orpheus Was No City Ever Built, No Work That Man Glories In Ever Done.

The All Of Things Is An Infinite Conjugation Of The Verb To Do .

Wondrous Is The Strength Of Cheerfulness, Altogether Past Calculation Its Powers Of Endurance.

All Deep Things Are Song. It Seems Somehow The Very Central Essence Of Us, Song; As If All The Rest Were But Wrappages And Hulls!

Worship Of A Hero Is Transcendent Admiration Of A Great Man.

The Mathematics Of High Achievement

All History . . . Is An Inarticulate Bible.

A Pygmy Standing On The Outward Crust Of This Small Planet, His Far-reaching Spirit Stretches Outward To The Infinite, And There Alone Finds Rest.

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