The art of progress is to preserve order amid change, and to preserve change amid order. Life refuses to be read more

The art of progress is to preserve order amid change, and to preserve change amid order. Life refuses to be embalmed alive.

If we're growing, we're always going to be out of our comfort zone.

If we're growing, we're always going to be out of our comfort zone.

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb;
Keep clean, be read more

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb;
Keep clean, be as fruit, earn life, and watch,
Till the white-wing'd reapers come.

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.

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.

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.

Man seems the only growth that dwindles here.

Besides that, when elsewhere the harvest of wheat is most
abundant, there it comes up less by one-fourth than read more

Besides that, when elsewhere the harvest of wheat is most
abundant, there it comes up less by one-fourth than what you have
sowed. There, methinks, it were a proper place for men to sow
their wild oats, where they would not spring up.
[Lat., Post id, frumenti quum alibi messis maxima'st
Tribus tantis illi minus reddit, quam obseveris.
Heu! istic oportet obseri mores malos,
Si in obserendo possint interfieri.]

"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.

Any life, no matter how long and complex it may be, is made up of a single moment - the read more

Any life, no matter how long and complex it may be, is made up of a single moment - the moment in which a man finds out, once and for all, who he is.