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Thomas Carlyle Quotes

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The man who cannot laugh is not only fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils; but his whole life is already a treason and a stratagem.

The man who cannot wonder, who does not habitually wonder and worship, is but a pair of spectacles behind which there is no eye.

The man without a purpose is like a ship without a rudder - a waif, a nothing, a no man. Have a purpose in life, and, having it, throw such strength of mind and muscle into your work as God has given you.

The meaning of song goes deep. Who is there that, in logical words, can express the effect music has on us? A kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech, which leads us to the edge of the infinite, and lets us for moments gaze into that!

The merit of originality is not novelty, it is sincerity.-The believing man is the original man; he believes for himself, not for another.

The old cathedrals are good, but the great blue dome that hangs over everything is better.

The older I grow-and I now stand on the brink of eternity-the more comes back to me that sentence in the Catechism which I learned when a child, and the fuller and deeper its meaning becomes: "What is the chief end of man? To glorify God and enjoy him forever."

The only happiness a brave person ever troubles themselves in asking about, is happiness enough to get their work done.

The outer passes away; the innermost is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

The present is the living sum-total of the whole past.
[The Present]

The Public is an old woman. Let her maunder and mumble.

The real use of gunpowder is to make all men tall.

The spiritual is the parent of the practical.

The stifled hum of midnight, when traffic has lain down to rest,  and the chariot wheels of vanity, still rolling here and there through distant streets, are bearing her to halls, roofed in and lighted for her; and only vice and misery, to prowl, or to moan like night birds, are abroad.

The three great elements of modern civilization, gunpowder, printing, and the Protestant religion.

The tragedy of life is not so much what men suffer, but rather what they miss.

The true epic of our times is not "arms and the man,"  but "tools and the man," an infinitely wider kind of epic.

The true past departs not; no truth or goodness realized by man ever dies, or can die; but all is still here, and, recognized or not, lives and works through endless changes.

The true university of these days is a collection of books.

The vulgarity of inanimate things requires time to get accustomed to; but living, breathing, bustling, plotting, planning, human vulgarity is a species of moral ipecacuanha enough to destroy any comfort.

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