They are, as it were, train-bearers in the pageant of life, and hold a glass up to humanity, frailer than itself. We see ourselves... at second-hand in them: they show us all that we are, all that we wish to be, and all that we dread to be.... What brings the resemblance nearer is, that, as they imitate us, we, in our turn, imitate them.... There is no class of society whom so many persons regard with affection as actors.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The love of fame is almost another name for the love of excellence; or it is the ambition to attain the highest excellence, sancti...oned by the highest authority, that of time.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
Comedy naturally wears itself out--destroys the very food on which it lives; and by constantly and successfully exposing the folli...es and weaknesses of mankind to ridicule, in the end leaves itself nothing worth laughing at.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The President has apples on the table And barefoot servants round him, who adjust... The curtains to a metaphysical t And the banners of the nation flutter, burst On the flag-poles in a red-blue dazzle, whack At the halyards.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »
The life in us is like the water in the river. It may rise this year higher than man has ever known it, and flood the parched upla...nds; even this may be the eventful year, which will drown out all our muskrats. It was not always dry land where we dwell. I see far inland the banks which the stream anciently washed, before science began to record its freshets. Every one has heard the story which has gone the rounds of New England, of a strong and beautiful bug which came out of the dry leaf of an old table of apple-tree wood, which had stood in a farmer's kitchen for sixty years, first in Connecticut, and afterward in Massachusetts,--from an egg deposited in the living tree many years earlier still, as appeared by counting the annual layers beyond it; which was heard gnawing out for several weeks, hatched perchance by the heat of an urn. Who does not feel his faith in a resurrection and immortality strengthened by hearing of this? Who knows what beautiful and winged life, whose egg has been buried for ages under many concentric layers of woodenness in the dead dry life of society, deposited at first in the alburnum of the green and living tree, which has been gradually converted into the semblance of its well-seasoned tomb,--heard perchance gnawing out now for years by the astonished family of man, as they sat round the festal board,--may unexpectedly come forth from amidst society's most trivial and handselled furniture, to enjoy its perfect summer life at last! I do not say that John or Jonathan will realize all this; but such is the character of that morrow which mere lapse of time can never make to dawn. The light which puts out our eyes is darkness to us. Only that day dawns to which we are awake. There is more day to dawn. The sun is but a morning star.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »