Fate, then, is a name for facts not yet passed under the fire of thought; for causes which are unpenetrated.

The State is a poor, good beast who means the best: it means friendly.

Intellect is void of affection and sees an object as it stands in the light of science, cool and disengaged. The intellect goes out of the individual, floats over its own personality, and regards it as a fact, and not as I and mine.

Fate is unpenetrated causes.

We lie in the lap of immense intelligence.

The results of life are uncalculated and uncalculable. The years teach much which the days never know. The persons who compose our company, converse, and come and go, and design and execute many things, and somewhat comes of it all, but an unlooked for result. The individual is always mistaken. He designed many things, and drew in other persons as coadjutors, quarrelled with some or all, blundered much, and something is done; all are a little advanced, but the individual is always mistaken. It turns out somewhat new, and very unlike what he promised himself.

A scholar does not wish to be always pumping his brains; he wants gossips.