What is done interests me more than what is thought and supposed.  Every fact is impure, but every fact contains in it the juices of life.  Every fact is a clod, from which may grow an amaranth or a palm.

Do you climb the snowy peaks from whence come the streams, where the atmosphere is rare, where you can see the sky nearer, from which you can get a commanding view of the landscape.  I see great disadvantages as well as advantages in this dignified position.  I had rather walk myself through all kinds of places, even at the risk of being robbed in the forest, half drowned at the ford, and covered with dust in the street.

I would beat with the living heart of the world, and understand all the moods, even the fancies or fantasies, of nature.  I dare to trust to the interpreting spirit to bring me out all right at last—­to establish truth through error.

Whether this be the best way is of no consequence, if it be the one individual character points out.

          For one, like me, it would be vain
          From glittering heights the eyes to strain;
          I the truth can only know,
          Tested by life’s most fiery glow. 
          Seeds of thought will never thrive
          Till dews of love shall bid them live.

Let me stand in my age with all its waters flowing round me.  If they sometimes subdue, they must finally upbear me, for I seek the Universal—­and that must be the best.

The Spirit, no doubt, leads in every movement of my time:  if I seek the How, I shall find it, as well as if I busied myself more with the Why.

Whatever is, is right, if only men are steadily bent to make it so, by comprehending and fulfilling its design.

May not I have an office, too, in my hospitality and ready sympathy?  If I sometimes entertain guests who cannot pay with gold coin, with “fair rose nobles,” that is better than to lose the chance of entertaining angels unawares.

You, my three friends, are held in heart-honor, by me.  You, especially, Good-Sense, because where you do not go yourself, you do not object to another’s going, if he will.  You are really liberal.  You, Old Church, are of use, by keeping unforgot the effigies of old religion, and reviving the tone of pure Spenserian sentiment, which this time is apt to stifle in its childish haste.  But you are very faulty in censuring and wishing to limit others by your own standard.  You, Self-Poise, fill a priestly office.  Could but a larger intelligence of the vocations of others, and a tender sympathy with their individual natures be added, had you more of love, or more of apprehensive genius, (for either would give you the needed expansion and delicacy) you would command my entire reverence.  As it is, I must at times deny and oppose you, and so must others, for you tend, by your influence, to exclude us from our full, free life.  We must be content when you censure, and rejoiced when you approve; always admonished to good by your whole being, and sometimes by your judgment.  And so I pass on to interest myself and others in the memoir of the Scherin von Prevorst.