OF RICHARD JEFFERIES 



already all, that advance is impossible 

 because there is nothing further, and it 

 is chained like a horse to an iron pin in 

 the ground. It is the most deadly— the 

 most fatal poison of the mind. No such 

 casuistry has ever for a moment held 

 me, but still, if permitted, the constant 

 routine of house-life, the same work, 

 the same thought in the work, the little 

 circumstances regularly recurring, will 

 dull the keenest edge of thought. By 

 daily pilgrimage, I escaped from it back 

 to the sun.— 'The Story of my Heart.' 



THE soul throbs like the sea for 

 a larger life. No thought 

 which I have ever had has 

 satisfied my soul.— 'The Story of my 

 Heart' 



THE pettiness of house life- 

 chairs and tables— and the 

 pettiness of observances, the 

 petty necessity of useless labour, useless 



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