Excerpt from Divine Discontent
Our praise of content is too idle. Among arduous days we set up this ideal of rest, our own desires far too tempestuous to let us be at such a haven, and circumstances too busy with our lives. So it is no foolish notion that contentment sets a limit upon meaner ambitions and gives room in the world for nobler. The man who beholds little of life believes there is no more. A child, still radiant with the trail of glory, adventures only upon the path of innocence, snug and content with food and warmth and sleep, securely shut from the hurt (which is knowledge) within his mother's arms.
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