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Whoso belongs only to his own age, and reverences only its gilt Popinjays or smoot-smeared Mumbojumbos, must needs die with it. - Thomas Carlyle


Every time I read, chew, and fully digest a Carlyle sentence, I feel full.

Most contemporary writing feels like cotton candy that dissolves easily in the mind, when compared to the rack of lamb you take in from Carlyle.


Well said.




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