CCCLXXXIX. Fame is the inheritance not of the dead, but of the living. It is we who look back with lofty pride to the great names of antiquity, who drink of that flood of glory as of a river, and refresh our wings in it for future flight.
CCCXC. The inhabitant of a metropolis is apt to think this circumstance alone gives him a decided superiority over every one else, and does not improve that natural advantage so much as he ought.
CCCXCI. A true-bred cockney fancies his having been born in London is a receipt in full for every other species of merit. He belongs, in his own opinion, to a privileged class.
CCCXCII. The number of objects we see from living in a large city amuses the mind like a perpetual raree-show, without supplying it with any ideas. The understanding thus becomes habitually mechanical and superficial.
CCCXCIII. In proportion to the number of persons we see, we forget that we know less of mankind.
CCCXCIV. Pertness and conceit are the characteristics of a true cockney. He feels little respect for the greatest things, from the opportunity of seeing them often and without trouble; and at the same time he entertains a high opinion of himself from his familiarity with them. He who has seen all the great actors, the great public characters, the chief public buildings, and the other wonders of the metropolis, thinks less of them from this circumstance; but conceives a prodigious contempt for all those who have not seen what he has.
CCCXCV. The confined air of a metropolis is hurtful to the minds and bodies of those who have never lived out of it. It is impure, stagnant—without breathing-space to allow a larger view of ourselves or others—and gives birth to a puny, sickly, unwholesome, and degenerate race of beings.
CCCXCVI. Those who, from a constant change and dissipation of outward objects have not a moment’s leisure left for their own thoughts, can feel no respect for themselves, and learn little consideration for humanity.
CCCXCVII. Profound hypocrisy is inconsistent with vanity: for the last would betray our designs by some premature triumph. Indeed, vanity implies a sympathy with others, and consummate hypocrisy is built on a total want of it.
CCCXCVIII. A hypocrite despises those whom he deceives, but has no respect for himself. He would make a dupe of himself too, if he could.