Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

Our pleasures and our discontents,
Are rounds by which we may ascend.

"Oh! what a vile and abject thing is man unless he can erect
himself above humanity." Here is a read more

"Oh! what a vile and abject thing is man unless he can erect
himself above humanity." Here is a bon mot and a useful desire,
but equally absurd. For to make the handful bigger than the
hand, the armful bigger then the arm, and to hope to stride
further than the stretch of our legs, is impossible and
monstrous. . . . He may lift himself if God lend him His hand of
special grace; he may lift himself . . . by means wholly
celestial. It is for our Christian religion, and not for his
Stoic virtue, to pretend to this divine and miraculous
metamorphosis.

Treading beneath their feet all visible things,
As steps that upwards to their Father's throne
Lead gradual.

Treading beneath their feet all visible things,
As steps that upwards to their Father's throne
Lead gradual.

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
read more

Nor deem the irrevocable Past,
As wholly wasted, wholly vain,
If, rising on its wrecks, at last
To something nobler we attain.

In a narrow circle the mind contracts.
Man grows with his expanded needs.
[Ger., Im engen Kreis read more

In a narrow circle the mind contracts.
Man grows with his expanded needs.
[Ger., Im engen Kreis verengert sich der Sinn.
Es wachst der Mensch mit seinen grossern Zwecken.]

The lofty oak from a small acorn grows.

The lofty oak from a small acorn grows.

You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was.

You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was.

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men read more

I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping stones
Or their dead selves to higher things.

'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, read more

'Ay,' quoth my uncle Gloucester,
'Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace.'
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flow'rs are slow and weeds make haste.