Every poet, be his outward lot what it may, finds himself born in the midst of prose; h e has to struggle from the littleness and obstruction of an actual world into the freedom and infinitude of an ideal.
Thomas CarlyleIs manโs civilization only a wrappage, through which the savage nature of him can still burst, infernal as ever?
Thomas CarlyleMay blessings be upon the head of Cadmus, the Phoenicians, or whoever it was that invented books.
Thomas CarlylePhilosophy dwells aloft in the Temple of Science, the divinity of its inmost shrine; her dictates descend among men, but she herself descends not : whoso would behold her must climb with long and laborious effort, nay, still linger in the forecourt, till manifold trial have proved him worthy of admission into the interior solemnities.
Thomas Carlyle