Thomas Carlyle

What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes,
Thy one brief parting pang may show:
And withering thoughts read more

What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes,
Thy one brief parting pang may show:
And withering thoughts for soul that dashes,
From deep to deep, are but a death more slow.

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water
flowing hidden underground, secretly making read more

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water
flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green.

We have not the love of greatness, but the love of the love of
greatness.

We have not the love of greatness, but the love of the love of
greatness.

If I say that Shakespeare is the greatest of intellects, I have
said all concerning him. But there is read more

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.

Ridicule is the language of the devil

Ridicule is the language of the devil