is a language in which certain truths are conveyed to us; could we learn them in some other way, we should not live.  Thus it is that wise sayings and prudential maxims will never make up for the lack of experience, or be a substitute for life itself.  Still they are not to be despised; for they, too, are a part of life; nay, they should be highly esteemed and regarded as the loose pages which others have copied from the book of truth as it is imparted by the spirit of the world.  But they are pages which must needs be imperfect, and can never replace the real living voice.  Still less can this be so when we reflect that life, or the book of truth, speaks differently to us all; like the apostles who preached at Pentecost, and instructed the multitude, appearing to each man to speak in his own tongue.

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Recognise the truth in yourself, recognise yourself in the truth; and in the same moment you will find, to your astonishment, that the home which you have long been looking for in vain, which has filled your most ardent dreams, is there in its entirety, with every detail of it true, in the very place where you stand.  It is there that your heaven touches your earth.

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What makes us almost inevitably ridiculous is our serious way of treating the passing moment, as though it necessarily had all the importance which it seems to have.  It is only a few great minds that are above this weakness, and, instead of being laughed at, have come to laugh themselves.

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The bright and good moments of our life ought to teach us how to act aright when we are melancholy and dull and stupid, by preserving the memory of their results; and the melancholy, dull, and stupid moments should teach us to be modest when we are bright.  For we generally value ourselves according to our best and brightest moments; and those in which we are weak and dull and miserable, we regard as no proper part of us.  To remember them will teach us to be modest, humble, and tolerant.

Mark my words once for all, my dear friend, and be clever.  Men are entirely self-centred, and incapable of looking at things objectively.  If you had a dog and wanted to make him fond of you, and fancied that of your hundred rare and excellent characteristics the mongrel would be sure to perceive one, and that that would be sufficient to make him devoted to you body and soul—­if, I say, you fancied that, you would be a fool.  Pat him, give him something to eat; and for the rest, be what you please:  he will not in the least care, but will be your faithful and devoted dog.  Now, believe me, it is just the same with men—­exactly the same.  As Goethe says, man or dog, it is a miserable wretch: 

  Denn ein erbaermlicher Schuft, so wie der Mensch, ist der hund.