Charles W. Eliot: The Man and His Beliefs, Volume 2

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Harper & brothers, 1926
"Autobiography of Charles W. Eliot, the longest serving President of Harvard, who served as president from 1869-1909" --
 

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Page 410 - I have seen all the works that are done under the sun ; and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.
Page 552 - God's worship, and settled the civil government, one of the next things we longed for and looked after was to advance learning and perpetuate it to posterity; dreading to leave an illiterate ministry to the churches, when our present ministers shall lie in the dust.
Page 435 - A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone ; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. 5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away ; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day...
Page 516 - Beauty must come back to the useful arts, and the distinction between the fine and the useful arts be forgotten. If history were truly told, if life were nobly spent, it would be no longer easy or possible to distinguish the one from the other. In nature, all is useful, all is beautiful.
Page 527 - The literature of the poor, the feelings of the child, the philosophy of the street, the meaning of household life, are the topics of the time.
Page 577 - And it came to pass that night, that the angel of the Lord went out, and smote in the camp of the Assyrians an hundred fourscore and five thousand: and when they arose early in the morning, behold, they were all dead corpses.
Page 409 - Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget What thou among the leaves hast never known, The weariness, the fever, and the fret...
Page 576 - Woman, believe me, the hour cometh, when neither in this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, shall ye worship the Father.
Page 519 - Each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each generation for the next succeeding. The books of an older period will not fit this.
Page 528 - From all that's fair, from all that's foul, Peals out a cheerful song. It is not only in the rose, It is not only in the bird, Not only where the rainbow glows, Nor in the song of woman heard, But in the darkest, meanest things There alway, alway something sings.

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