Every stoic was a stoic; but in Christendom where is the Christian?

The book written against fame and learning has the author's name on the title-page.

The world is the perennial miracle which the soul worketh.

Be a football to Time and Chance, the more kicks, the better, so that you inspect the whole game and know its utmost law.

Every act of the man inscribes itself in the memories of his fellows, and in his own manners and face. The air is full of sounds;the sky, of tokens; the ground is all memoranda and signatures; and every object covered over with hints, which speak to the intelligent.

To the young mind every thing is individual, stands by itself. By and by, it finds how to join two things and see in them one nature; then three, then three thousand; and so, tyrannized over by its own unifying instinct, it goes on tying things together, diminishing anomalies, discovering roots running under ground whereby contrary and remote things cohere and flower out from one stem.

The world is so beautiful that I can hardly believe it exists.