We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.
From The Garden of Proserpine, by AC Swinburne
"By 1890 a man, or even a woman, whose luggage would go in the rack, could traverse West and Central Europe almost as freely as a vagrant wind. That was the time to be young." C. E. Montague
“Small blame to clever, half-disciplined youth if it lost its head for a while, being invited so to do, and forgot for the moment the terms on which big things can be done.” C. E. Montague
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“Isn’t it interesting that the thing we all profess to want is the thing to which none of us apparently want to devote time and energy?” https://t.co/pdrZd5yR4x
“New books every day, pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes, opinions, schisms, heresies, controversies in philosophy, religion, etc.” https://t.co/5yBUtASUH4
From A Sunday of Liberty: “Let’s put the ‘I’ back in writing and see if the performative political grandstanding doesn’t fade away.” https://t.co/cVYJAWAdxC
“To believe too rigidly in distinctions is the same as to generalise superficially, or to believe in a rule without understanding its conditions and limitations, and so without making allowance for the exceptional cases.” (Alfred Sidgwick)
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"Underlying the phobia against monuments and reminders of slavery and the Civil War is the exceedingly perilous delusion of human perfectibility: If we who are perfect, or nearly so, could demolish present evils or present reminders of past evils, then all of us would be perfect. This is the moral ferocity that sends out hunters after witches or heretics or deviants of any sort."—Wendell Berry, The Need to be Whole, p. 184
"The function of the Living Man is not necessarily to invent brand new ideas; it may be to keep old ideas from getting loose from their moorings in firm reality and from drifting into the measureless though stagnant ocean of pedantry." F. H. Hayward
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