English Plays, Atrocious In Content, Absurd In

A Man Avails Himself Of The Truth So Long As It Is Serviceable; But He Seizes On What Is False With A Passionate Eloquence As Soon As He Can Make A Momentary Use Of It.

Whatever We May Say Against Collections, Which Present Authors In A Disjointed Form, They Nevertheless Bring About Many Excellent Results. We Are Not Always So Composed, So Full Of Wisdom, That We Are Able To Take In At Once The Whole Scope Of A Work According To Its Merits. Do We Not Mark In A Book Passages Which Seem To Have A Direct Reference To Ourselves? Young People Especially, Who Have Failed In Acquiring A Complete Cultivation Of Mind, Are Roused In A Praiseworthy Way By Brilliant Passages.

Nature! We Live In Her Midst And Know Her Not. She Is Incessantly Speaking To Us, But Betrays Not Her Secret. We Constantly Act Upon Her, And Yet Have No Power Over Her. Variant: Nature! We Are Surrounded And Embraced By Her: Powerless To Separate Ourselves From Her, And Powerless To Penetrate Beyond Her.

Thank God When He Oppresses You, And Again When He Releases You.

Nothing Is True, But That Which Is Simple.