We call it a Society; and go about professing openly the totalest separation, isolation. Our life is not a mutual helpfulness; but rather, cloaked under due laws-of-war, named fair competition and so forth, it is a mutual hostility.

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.

A man perfects himself by working.

Cash-payment is not the sole nexus of man with man.

All true work is sacred.

All greatness is unconscious, or it is little and naught.

A man lives by believing something.