It Is Better To Suffer Injustice Than

For You, O Broker, There Is No Other Principle But Arithmetic. For Me, Commerce Is Of Trivial Import; Love, Faith, Truth Of Character, The Aspiration Of Man, These Are Sacred; Nor Can I Detach One Duty, Like You, From All Other Duties, And Concentrate My Forces Mechanically On The Payment Of Moneys.

Society Is An Illusion To The Young Citizen. It Lies Before Him In Rigid Repose, With Certain Names, Men, And Institutions, Rootedlike Oak-trees To The Centre, Round Which All Arrange Themselves The Best They Can. But The Old Statesman Knows That Society Is Fluid; There Are No Such Roots And Centres; But Any Particle May Suddenly Become The Centre Of The Movement, And Compel The System To Gyrate Round It, As Every Man Of Strong Will, Like Pisistratus, Or Cromwell, Does For A Time, And Every Man Of Truth, Like Plato, Or Paul, Does Forever.

There Is One Mind Common To All Individual Men. Every Man Is An Inlet To The Same And To All Of The Same.

The Unstable Estimates Of Men Crowd To Him Whose Mind Is Filled With A Truth, As The Heaped Waves Of The Atlantic Follow The Moon.

The Lover Of Nature Is He Whose Inward And Outward Senses Are Still Truly Adjusted To Each Other; Who Has Retained The Spirit Of Infancy Even Into The Era Of Manhood. His Intercourse With Heaven And Earth, Becomes Part Of His Daily Food. In The Presence Of Nature, A Wild Delight Runs Through The Man, In Spite Of Real Sorrows.