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Thomas Carlyle Quotes

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The wealth of man is the number of things which he loves and blesses, which he is loved and blessed by.

The wise man is but a clever infant, spelling letters from a hieroglyphical prophetic book, the lexicon of which lies in eternity.

The work an unknown good man has done is like a vein of water flowing hidden underground, secretly making the ground green.

The work we desire and prize is not the courage to die decently, but to live manfully.

The world is a republic of mediocrities, and always was.

There are but two ways of paying a debt; increase of industry in raising income, or increase of thrift in laying out.

There are depths in man that go to the lowest hell, and heights that reach the highest heaven, for are not both heaven and hell made out of him, everlasting miracle and mystery that he is.

There are good and bad times, but our mood changes more often than our fortune.

There is a calm, viscous insensibility which will baffle even the gods, and calmly say, Try all your lightnings here, and see whether I cannot quench them.

There is a great discovery still to be made in literature, that of paying literary men by the quantity they do not write.

There is a perennial nobleness and even sacredness in work.-Were he ever so benighted and forgetful of his high calling, there is always hope in a man who actually and earnestly works.

There is but one thing without honor, smitten with eternal barrenness, inability to do or to be, and that is unbelief. He who believes nothing, who believes only the shows of things, is not in relation with nature and fact at all.

There is endless merit in a man's knowing when to have done.

There is no heroic poem in the world but is at bottom a biography, the life of a man; also, it may be said, there is no life of a man, faithfully recorded, but is a heroic poem of its sort, rhymed or unrhymed.

This is such a serious world that we should never speak at all unless we have something to say.

This little life has its duties that are great-that are alone great, and that go up to heaven and down to hell.

This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.

Thought is the parent of the deed.

Thought once awakened does not again slumber; unfolds itself into a System of Thought; grows, in man after man, generation after generation, - till its full stature is reached, and such System of Thought can grow no farther, but must give place to another.

Thy life is no idle dream, but a solemn reality; it is thine own, and it is all thou hast to front eternity with.

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