But often, in the world’s most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried … - Matthew Arnold

It is not in my nature, some of my critics would rather say, not in my power, to dispute on behalf of any opinion, even my own, very obstinately. To try and approach truth on one side after another, not to strive or cry, nor to persist in pressing forward, on any one side, with violence and self-will, — it is only thus, it seems to me, that mortals may hope to gain any vision of the mysterious Goddess, whom we shall never see except in outline, but only thus even in outline. He who will do nothing but fight impetuously towards her on his own, one, favourite, particular line, is inevitably destined to run his head into the folds of the black robe in which she is wrapped.

The slightest deviation from the line of clear conviction — the least turning to left or right in order to cocker a prejudice or please an audience or flatter a class, showed a want of delicacy — a preference of present popularity to permanent self-respect — which he could never have indulged in himself, and with difficulty tolerated in others. He had nothing but contempt for “philosophical politicians with a turn for swimming with the stream, and philosophical divines with the same turn.

Venid a mí en mis sueños, y luego durante el día estaré bien otra vez. Porque entonces la noche más que pagará el anhelo desesperado del día.