It Seems To Me That You Are

The Death Of The Contemporary Forms Of Social Order Ought To Gladden Rather Than Trouble The Soul. Yet What Is Frightening Is That The Departing World Leaves Behind It Not An Heir, But A Pregnant Widow. Between The Death Of The One And The Birth Of The Other, Much Water Will Flow By, A Long Night Of Chaos And Desolation Will Pass.

Would It Be Possible To Stand Still On One Spot More Majestically -- While Simulating A Triumphant March Forward -- Than It Is Done By The Two English Houses Of Parliament?

Every Man Who Has Lived For Fifty Years Has Buried A Whole World Or Even Two; He Has Grown Used To Its Disappearance And Accustomed To The New Scenery Of Another Act: But Suddenly The Names And Faces Of A Time Long Dead Appear More And More Often On His Way, Calling Up Series Of Shades And Pictures Kept Somewhere, "just In Case," In The Endless Catacombs Of The Memory, Making Him Smile Or Sigh, And Sometimes Almost Weep.

Human Development Is A Form Of Chronological Unfairness, Since Late-comers Are Able To Profit By The Labors Of Their Predecessors Without Paying The Same Price.

We Could Hardly Believe That After So Many Ordeals, After All The Trials Of Modern Skepticism, There Was Still So Much Left In Our Souls To Destroy.