The Tardy Cherub
Cupid snoozed—his alarm betrayed, Wings askew, his bow mislaid. Love showed up a moment late, Blushing, breathless, tempting fate. Turns out hearts still fell just fine— Even tardy arrows hit on time.
The Good Man
“The good man is he who works continually in welldoing; to whom welldoing is as his natural existence, awakening no astonishment, requiring no commentary; but there, like a thing of course, and as if it could not but be so. Self-contemplation, on the other hand, is infallibly the symptom of disease, be it or be it not the sign of cure . . . there is a self-seeking; an unprofitable looking behind us to measure the way we have made: whereas the sole concern is to walk continually forward, and make more way. . . . Let the free, reasonable Will, which dwells in us, as in our Holy of Holies, be indeed free, and obeyed like a Divinity, as is its right and its effort: the perfect obedience will be the silent one. . . This, true enough, is an ideal, impossible state of being; yet ever the goal towards which our actual state of being strives. . .” (Thomas Carlyle (1795–1881). “Characteristics”)
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