Saturday, October 24, 2015


An Unprofitable Lout

Thomas Carlyle, letter to his mother (December 4, 1822):
This is my birthday: I am now seven and twenty years of age! What an unprofitable lout I am! What have I done in this world to make good my place in it, or reward those that had the trouble of my upbringing? Great part of an ordinary lifetime is gone by: and here am I, poor trifler, still sojourning in Meshech, still dwelling among the tents of Kedar!
Psalm 120.5:
Woe is me, that I sojourn in Mesech, that I dwell in the tents of Kedar!

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