The time's come: there's a terrific thunder-cloud advancing upon us, a mighty storm is coming to freshen us up....It's going to blow away all this idleness and indifference, and prejudice against work....I'm going to work, and in twenty-five or thirty years' time every man and woman will be working.
The bud, though plucked, would not be withered, only transplanted to a fitter soil to ripen and blow beneath a brighter sun; and though i might not cherish and watch my child's unfolding intellect, he would be snatched away from all the suffering and sins of earth; and my understanding tells me this would be no great evil; but my heart shrinks from the contemplation of such a possibility, and whispers i could not bear to see him die.
A man who has once perceived, however temporarily and however briefly, what makes greatness of soul, can no longer be happy if he allows himself to be petty, self-seeking, troubled by trivial misfortunes, dreading what fate may have in store for him. The man capable of greatness of soul will open wide the windows of his mind, letting the winds blow freely upon it from every portion of the universe.
Right now, where do we stand? Well right at the russian border, both sides have been taking provocative actions, both sides are building up military forces. Nato forces are carrying out maneuvers hundreds of yards from the russian border, the russian jets are buzzing american jets. Anything could blow up in a minute.
Flora, always tall, had grown to be very broad too, and short of breath; but that was not much. flora, whom he had left a lily, had become a peony; but that was not much. flora, who had seemed enchanting in all she said and thought, was diffuse and silly. that was much. flora, who had been spoiled and artless long ago, was determined to be spoiled and artless now. that was a fatal blow.
If there were reason for these miseries, then into limits could i bind my woes. If the winds rages, doth not the sea wax mad, threat'ning the welkin with its big-swoll'n face? And wilt though have a reason for this coil? I am the sea. Hark how her sighs doth blow. She is the weeping welkin, i the earth.
There exists, at the bottom of all abasement and misfortune, a last extreme which rebels and joins battle with the forces of law and respectability in a desperate struggle, waged partly by cunning and partly by violence, at once sick and ferocious, in which it attacks the prevailing social order with the pin-pricks of vice and the hammer-blows of crime.