This London City, with all of its houses, palaces, steam-engines, cathedrals, and huge immeasurable traffic an tumult, what is it but a Thought, but millions of Thoughts made into One-a huge immeasurable Spirit of a Thought, embodied in brick, in iron, smoke, dust, Palaces, Parliaments, Hackney Coaches, Katherine Docks, and the rest of it! Not a brick was made but some man had to think of the making of that brick.
My whinstone house my castle is, I have my own four walls.
Laws themselves, political Constitutions, are not our Life; but only the house wherein our Life is led.
Lives the man that can figure a naked Duke of Windlestraw addressing a naked House of Lords?
A false man found a religion? Why, a false man cannot build a brick house!
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