Even The Pluckiest Among Us Has But

No One Dies Of Fatal Truths Nowadays: There Are Too Many Antidotes.

Carlyle, A Man Of Strong Words And Attitudes, A Rhetorician Out Of Necessity, Constantly Aroused By The Craving For A Strong Faithas Well As By The Feeling Of An Incapacity For It (min This Respect A Typical Romantic!).... Fundamentally, Carlyle Is An English Atheist Who Makes It A Point Of Honor Not To Be One.

To Live As I Incline, Or Not To Live At All: So Do I Wish; So Wisheth Also The Holiest. But Alas! How Have I Still - Inclination? Have I-still A Goal? A Haven Towards Which My Sail Is Set?a Good Wind? Ah, He Only Who Knoweth Whither He Saileth, Knoweth What Wind Is Good, And A Fair Wind For Him.what Still Remaineth To Me? A Heart Weary And Flippant; And Unstable Will; Fluttering Wings; A Broken Backbone.this Seeking For My Home: O Zarathustra, Dost Thou Know That This Seeking Hath Been My Home-sickening; It Eateth Me Up.

Christianity In Particular Should Be Dubbed A Great Treasure-chamber Of Ingenious Consolations, Such A Store Of Refreshing, Soothing, Deadening Drugs Has It Accumulated Within Itself.

Instinct. When The House Burns One Forgets Even Lunch. Yes, But One Eats It Later In The Ashes.