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Abbot Samson answer Aristocracy Atheism become behold blessed Bobus brave brother Bucanier Cant centuries Chactaw Chaos Chap CHAPTER Chartism Corn-Laws cracy Dastards dead Devil Dilettantism discern divine Dominus Earth Edmund Edmundsbury Elmswell England English eternal everywhere eyes fact fighting forever French Revolutions God's godlike Government hast heart Heaven Hell hero Hero-worship honour Howel Davies human hundred idle impossible infinite Jabesh Jocelin Jotuns Justice kind King Labour Laissez-faire Land Laws liberty little Samson living Loculus look Lord Abbot Mammonism man's manner million Monks Nature Nature's never noble Odin once Pandarus parchments Parliament Phantasms Plugson poor Quack religion reverence river Lark Shrine silent soul speak strange talent thee things thou art thou wilt thousand true truly truth Universe venerable victory voice wages whatsoever whole Willelmus wise withal word Workers Workhouses worship
171. oldal - Produce ! Produce ! Were it but the pitifullest infinitesimal fraction of a Product, produce it in God's name ! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee; out with it then. Up, up ! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might. Work while it is called To-day, for the Night cometh wherein no man can work.
105. oldal - There is but one temple in the Universe,' says the devout Novalis, ' and that is the Body of Man. Nothing is holier than that high form. Bending before men is a reverence done to this Revelation in the Flesh. We touch Heaven when we lay our hand on a human body!
126. oldal - But she proves her sisterhood ; her typhus-fever kills them : they actually were her brothers, though denying it ! Had human creature ever to go lower for a proof...
26. oldal - To him that hath shall be given, and from him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath,' — that doctrines like these should be applied in the State, and especially in a monarchically, paternally governed State.
167. oldal - Blessed is he who has found his work; let him ask no other blessedness. He has a work, a life-purpose; he has found it, and will follow it! How, as a free-flowing channel, dug and torn by noble force through the sour mud-swamp of one's existence, like an ever-deepening river there, it runs and flows; draining off the sour festering water, gradually from the root of the remotest grassblade; making instead of pestilential swamp, a green fruitful meadow with its clear-flowing stream.
1. oldal - So many hundred thousands sit in workhouses: and other hundred thousands have not yet got even workhouses; and in thrifty Scotland itself, in Glasgow or Edinburgh City, in their dark lanes, hidden from all but the eye of God, and of rare Benevolence the minister of God, there are scenes of woe and destitution and desolation, such as, one may hope, the Sun never saw before in the most barbarous regions where men dwelt.
123. oldal - And now what is it, if you pierce through his Cants, his oft-repeated Hearsays, what he calls his Worships and so forth, — what is it that the modern English soul does, in very truth, dread infinitely, and contemplate with entire despair? What is his Hell, after all these reputable, oft-repeated Hearsays, what is it ? With hesitation, with astonishment, I pronounce it to be : The terror of 'Not succeeding...
8. oldal - ... itself! For it is the right and noble alone that will have victory in this struggle ; the rest is wholly an obstruction, a postponement and fearful imperilment of the victory.
173. oldal - LIFE to thee, — why, God's entire Creation to thyself, the whole Universe of Space, the whole Eternity of Time, and what they hold : that is the price which would content thee ; that, and if thou wilt be candid, nothing short of that ! It is thy all ; and for it thou wouldst have all.
230. oldal - The Leaders of Industry, if Industry is ever to be led, are virtually the Captains of the World ; if there be no nobleness in them, there will never be an Aristocracy more. But let the Captains of Industry consider : once again, are they born of other clay than the old Captains of Slaughter ; doomed forever to be no Chivalry, but a mere gold-plated Doggery, — what the French well name Canaille,