Author » Emerson, Ralph Waldo
In America the geography is sublime, but the men are not; the inventions are excellent, but the inventors one is sometimes ashamed of.
As long as our civilization is essentially one of property, of fences, of exclusiveness, it will be mocked by delusions. Our riches will leave us sick; there will be bitterness in our laughter; and our wine will burn our mouth. Only that good profits, which we can taste with all doors open, and which serves all men.
One lesson we learn early, that in spite of seeming difference, men are all of one pattern. We readily assume this with our mates, and are disappointed and angry if we find that we are premature, and that their watches are slower than ours. In fact, the only sin which we never forgive in each other is difference of opinion.
Fate, then, is a name for facts not yet passed under the fire of thought; for causes which are unpenetrated.