A Species of Atavism.—I like best to think of the rare men of an age as suddenly emerging after-shoots of past cultures, and of their persistent strength: like the atavism of a people and its civilisation—there is thus still something in them to think of! They now seem strange, rare, and extraordinary: and he who feels these forces in himself has to foster them in face of a different, opposing world; he has to defend them, honour them, and rear them to maturity: and he either becomes a great man thereby, or a deranged and eccentric person, if he does not altogether break down betimes.
An I be wont to wax sesquipedalian, I’ll retreat to the phrontistery for to desiderate lost epochs of literacy.
P.S., the title of this post is absolutely not calculated to torment and befuddle all of the filthy troglodytes whom I have deprived of my posts. :-)
P.P.S., I will now wait for someone who has never read philological texts to hypercorrect my apparently inconsistent usage of quotation marks. Actually, I have been expecting that for awhile.