It is the feeling of injustice that is insupportable to all men.

At worst, is not this an unjust world, full of nothing but beasts of prey, four-footed or two-footed?

To know, to get into the truth of anything, is ever a mystic art, of which the best logic's can but babble on the surface.

A man perfects himself by working. Foul jungles are cleared away, fair seed-fields rise instead, and stately cities; and with the man himself first ceases to be a jungle, and foul unwholesome desert thereby. The man is now a man.

Force, force, everywhere force; we ourselves a mysterious force in the centre of that. "There is not a leaf rotting on the highway but has Force in it: how else could it rot?" [As used in his time, by the word force, Carlyle means energy.]

Without kindness there can be no true joy.

Skepticism . . . is not intellectual only it is moral also, a chronic atrophy and disease of the whole soul.