The most active lives have so much routine as to preclude progress almost equally with the most inactive. They add voyage to voyage, and buy stocks that they may buy stocks, and no ulterior purpose is thought of. When you see their dexterity in particulars, you cannot overestimate the resources of good sense, and when you find how empty they are of all remote aims, you cannot underestimate their philosophy. The men of letters and the professions we have charged with the like surrender to routine. It is no otherwise with the men of office.
Statesmen are solitary.
At no time do they form a class. The titles, the property, the notoriety, the brief consequence of our fellows are only the decoration of the sacrifice, and add to the melancholy of the observer. The earth goes on the earth glittering with gold, The earth goes to the earth sooner than it should, The earth builds on the earth castles and towers, The earth says to the earth, all this is ours. All this is covered up by the speedy succession of the particulars, which tread so close on each other's heel, as to allow no space for the man to question the whole thing. There is somewhat terrific in this mask of routine.