So Long As War Is The Main

We Think Of Euclid As Of Fine Ice; We Admire Newton As We Admire The Peak Of Teneriffe. Even The Intensest Labors, The Most Remote Triumphs Of The Abstract Intellect, Seem To Carry Us Into A Region Different From Our Own-to Be In A Terra Incognita Of Pure Reasoning, To Cast A Chill On Human Glory.

An Element Of Exaggeration Clings To The Popular Judgment: Great Vices Are Made Greater, Great Virtues Greater Also; Interesting Incidents Are Made More Interesting, Softer Legends More Soft.

It Is Often Said That Men Are Ruled By Their Imaginations; But It Would Be Truer To Say They Are Governed By The Weakness Of Their Imaginations.

What We Opprobriously Call Stupidity, Though Not An Enlivening Quality In Common Society, Is Nature's Favorite Resource For Preserving Steadiness Of Conduct And Consistency Of Opinion.

The Reason Why So Few Good Books Are Written Is, That So Few People That Can Write Know Anything. In General An Author Has Always Lived In A Room, Has Read Books, Has Cultivated Science, Is Acquainted With The Style And Sentiments Of The Best Authors, But He Is Out Of The Way Of Employing His Own Eyes And Ears. He Has Nothing To Hear And Nothing To See. His Life Is A Vacuum.