One day when I was young, and walking with a friend, a field dry as straw bloomed with flowers. "Oh, glory!" we breathed, my good friend and I, for the flowers blazed like suns and fire and rainbows. They sprang from folds between hillsides, peeked from pockets of shade. Spiraling - dancing - they followed us home. . . .
It is better that great peoples should seek out glory, or even vanity, in their deeds, than that they should remain indifferent . For even if they are not incited to act upon virtuous principles, at least there is the saving grace that they will do things they might not have done had not vanity prompted their actions.
Magdeleine Sable (c. 1599 - 1678)
Source: the Marquise Sablé’s work is in Maxims and Various Thoughts (Maximes et pensées diverses) 1678
Abandon the urge to simplify everything, to look for formulas and easy answers, and to begin to think multidimensionally, to glory in the mystery and paradoxes of life, not to be dismayed by the multitude of causes and consequences that are inherent in each experience -- to appreciate the fact that life is complex.
A man's mind should be single to the glory of God in everything that he starts to accomplish. We should consider that of ourselves we can do nothing. We are the children of God. We are in darkness, only as God enlightens our understanding. We are powerless, only as God helps us. The work that we have to do here is of that nature that we cannot do it unless we have the assistance of the Almighty.
Looking outward to the blackness of space, sprinkled with the glory of a universe of lights, I saw majesty - but no welcome. Below was a welcoming planet. There, contained in the thin, moving, incredibly fragile shell of the biosphere is everything that is dear to you, all the human drama and comedy. That's where life is; that's where all the good stuff is.
On a lone barren isle, where the wild roaring billows Assail the stern rock, and the loud tempests rave, The hero lies still, while the dew-drooping willows, Like fond weeping mourners, lean over his grave. The lightnings may flash and the loud thunders rattle; He heeds not, he hears not, he 's free from all pain; He sleeps his last sleep, he has fought his last battle; No sound can awake him to glory again!
Yet spirit immortal, the tomb cannot bind thee, But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee A name which before thee no mortal hath won. Tho' nations may combat, and war's thunders rattle, No more on thy steed wilt thou sweep o'er the plain: Thou sleep'st thy last sleep, thou hast fought thy last battle, No sound can awake thee to glory again.