Woe To Him, . . . Who

Fame, We May Understand, Is No Sure Test Of Merit, But Only A Probability Of Such; It Is An Accident, Not A Property Of Man.

Heroes Have Gone Out; Quacks Have Come In; The Reign Of Quacks Has Not Ended With The Nineteenth Century. The Sceptre Is Held With A Firmer Grasp; The Empire Has A Wider Boundary. We Are All The Slaves Of Quackery In One Shape Or Another. Indeed, One Portion Of Our Being Is Always Playing The Successful Quack To The Other.

We Have Not The Love Of Greatness, But The Love Of The Love Of Greatness.

No Man At Bottom Means Injustice; It Is Always For Some Obscure Distorted Image Of A Right That He Contends: An Obscure Image Diffracted, Exaggerated, In The Wonderfulest Way By Natural Dimness And Selfishness; Getting Tenfold More Diffracted By Exasperation Of Contest, Till At Length It Become All But Irrecognis-able.

A Fundamental Mistake To Call Vehemence And Rigidity Strength! A Man Is Not Strong Who Takes Convulsion-fits; Though Six Men Cannot Hold Him Then. He That Can Walk Under The Heaviest Weight Without Staggering, He Is The Strong Man . . . A Man Who Cannot Hold His Peace, Till The Time Come For Speaking And Acting, Is No Right Man.