In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
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There is an incessant influx of novelty into the world, and yet we tolerate incredible dulness. I need only suggest what kind of sermons are still listened to in the most enlightened countries. There are such words as joy and sorrow, but they are only the burden of a psalm, sung with a nasal twang, while we believe in the ordinary and mean.
Henry David Thoreau