Evil, once manfully fronted, ceases to be evil; there is generous battle-hope in place of dead, passive misery; the evil itself has become a kind of good.

All human things do require to have an ideal in them; to have some soul in them.

Men worship the shows of great men; the most disbelieve that there is any reality of great men to worship.

In books lies the soul fo the whole past time.

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.

At the bottom there is no perfect history; there is none such conceivable. All past centuries have rotted down, and gone confusedly dumb and quiet.

Woe to him that claims obedience when it is not due; woe to him that refuses it when it is.