Not a having and a resting, but a growing and becoming, is the character of perfection as culture conceives it.
The need of expansion is as genuine an instinct in man as the need in a plant for the light, or the need in man himself for going upright. The love of liberty is simply the instinct in man for expansion.
The true meaning of religion is thus, not simply morality, but morality touched by emotion.
The pursuit of perfection, then, is the pursuit of sweetness and light.
Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play, Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away.
Still bent to make some port he knows not where, still standing for some false impossible shore.