Այլ խմբագրություններ - View all
Abbot already answer become begin better Body Book brother centuries CHAPTER clear Clothes comes consider continue dark dead deep divine Earth Editor England English eternal existence eyes fact feeling figure fire force give govern hand hast head heart Heaven History hope hour human hundred infinite Jocelin kind King land Laws learned less lies light living look Lord man's manner matter mean mind Monks Nature never Nevertheless night noble once perhaps persons poor possible practical present Professor question reader rest round Samson seems seen sense silent Society sort soul speak Spirit stand strange Teufelsdröckh thee things thou thought thousand true truth turn Universe wherein whole wise young
Էջ 197 - FOB there is a perennial nobleness, and even sacredness, in Work. Were he never so benighted, forgetful of his high calling, there is always hope in a man that actually and earnestly works : in Idleness alone is there perpetual despair.
Էջ 151 - The Situation that has not its Duty, its Ideal, was never yet occupied by man. Yes here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, despicable Actual, wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal; work it out therefrom; and working, believe, live, be free.
Էջ 131 - Hast thou not a heart; canst thou not suffer whatsoever it be; and, as a Child of Freedom, though outcast, trample Tophet itself under thy feet, while it consumes thee? Let it come, then; I will meet it and defy it!
Էջ 148 - I see a glimpse of it !' cries he elsewhere : ' there is in man a HIGHER than Love of Happiness : he can do without Happiness, and instead thereof find Blessedness ! Was it not to preach-forth this same HIGHER that sages and martyrs, the Poet and the Priest, in all times, have spoken and suffered ; bearing testimony...
Էջ 152 - 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.
Էջ 198 - Labour is Life: from the inmost heart of the Worker rises his God-given Force, the sacred celestial Life-essence breathed into him by Almighty God ; from his inmost heart awakens him to all nobleness, — to all knowledge, "selfknowledge" and much else, so soon as Work fitly begins.
Էջ 179 - For us was thy back so bent, for us were thy straight limbs and fingers so deformed; thou wert our Conscript, on whom the lot fell, and fighting our battles wert so marred. For in thee, too, lay a god-created Form, but it was not to be unfolded ; encrusted must it stand with the thick adhesions and defacements of Labour ; and thy body, like thy soul, was not to know freedom. Yet toil on, toil on ; thou art in thy duty, be out of it who may; thou toilest for the altogether indispensable, for daily...
Էջ 148 - On the roaring billows of Time, thou art not engulfed, but borne aloft into the azure of Eternity. Love not Pleasure ; love God. This is the EVERLASTING YEA, wherein all contradiction is solved: wherein whoso walks and works, it is well with him.
Էջ 147 - I then said, that the Fraction of Life can be increased in value not so much by increasing your Numerator as by lessening your Denominator. Nay, unless my Algebra deceive me, Unity itself divided by Zero will give Infinity. Make thy claim of wages a zero, then; thou hast the world under thy feet. Well did the Wisest of our time write: 'It is only with Renunciation (Entsagen) that Life, properly speaking, can be said to begin.
Էջ 209 - Thus, like a God-created, fire-breathing Spirit-host, we emerge from the Inane; haste stormfully across the astonished Earth; then plunge again into the Inane. Earth's mountains are levelled, and her seas filled up, in our passage: can the Earth, which is but dead and a vision, resist Spirits which have reality and are alive? On the hardest adamant some foot-print of us is stamped in; the last Rear of the host will read traces of the earliest Van. But whence? — O Heaven, whither? Sense knows not;...