It Is For Want Of Self-culture That

No Doubt, To A Man Of Sense, Travel Offers Advantages. As Many Languages As He Has, As Many Friends, As Many Arts And Trades, So Many Times Is He A Man. A Foreign Country Is A Point Of Comparison, Wherefrom To Judge His Own.

We Boil At Different Degrees.

In This Distribution Of Functions, The Scholar Is The Delegated Intellect. In The Right State, He Is, Man Thinking. In The Degenerate State, When The Victim Of Society, He Tends To Become A Mere Thinker, Or, Still Worse, The Parrot Of Other Men's Thinking.

But Only That Soul Can Be My Friend Which I Encounter On The Line Of My Own March, That Soul To Which I Do Not Decline, And Which Does Not Decline Me, But, Native Of The Same Celestial Latitude, Repeats In Its Own All My Experience.

It Never Was In The Power Of Any Man Or Any Community To Call The Arts Into Being. They Come To Serve His Actual Wants, Never To Please His Fancy.