History (n.) seen only through its few eminent individuals stands higher, in a sense, but is lower than the view that grants the lesser man his equally great validity.
History (n.) is long and toilsome, like the law; art and poetry step in to shorten the way — but the more significant the outcome, the more the way itself is the goal.
History (n.) is more than the free acts of free individuals: a higher order digests those acts and weaves them into its eternal law, and the agent never knows what will come of them.
History (n.) gains continuity in a man's life only when it is not the sum of what befell him but his own work — even what befell him translated from necessity into freedom.
History (n.) belongs to the race because it does not begin afresh with every individual, while every individual begins afresh with the race.
History (n.) is not a log of deeds: even if the archangel Michael wrote down every mission he flew, that would not be his history.
History (n.) as a road to God takes a long time, gives precarious results, and sits close to the sensuous man's wonder at the merely ingenious.