"Shakespeare says we are creatures that look before and after. The more surprising, then, that we do not look around a little, and see what is passing under our very eyes."
So writes Thomas Carlyle.
Although he politely says "we," when speaking of people in general, that part of the "we" known as Thomas Carlyle certainly keeps his eyes wide open. So wide, indeed, that much that is disagreeable comes under his notice, as always will be the case with those who choose to see everything.
I once watched the round, red sun as it crimsoned the sparkling waters in which it seemed already sinking. When, at last, I turned my dazzled eyes away, all over lake and sky I saw dancing black suns. Perhaps it is through dwelling long on one idea that Carlyle sees only spots of blackness on what others call clear sky. The great want of that foggy, smoky city where he lives is pure, health-giving light, and this we also miss in his writings, which, like London, have not enough sunshine.
But, whatever people may say, when Carlyle speaks the world is quite ready to listen.
Who is Thomas Carlyle?
He is a Scotchman, a philosopher, an essayist, an historian, a biographer, and an octogenarian.
What has he done to be so famous?
He has written twenty books. But you might live to be an octogenarian yourself without meeting twenty persons who would have read them all. It would not be a hard matter, though, to find those who have read one of his books twenty times; perhaps this very green-covered book with "Sartor Resartus" on the back.
What does it mean, and what is it all about?