Suppose, some morning, when I see a merchant setting off for his
office quite too early, I ask him why he is hastening so. He answers,
"Why, there is money to be made. And as I intend to be a rich man some
day, I must leave home comforts and be prompt at my desk." But I
persist, "You have forgotten something. It occurs to me that you never
can be rich. No rich man was ever seen. Whoever has obtained a million
dollars can get a million more, and the man of two millions can become
one of three. Obviously, then, neither you nor any one can become a
completely rich man." Should I stay that merchant from his exit by
remarks of this kind? If he answered at all, he would merely say,
"Don't read too much. You had better mix more with men."

And I should get no better treatment from the scholar, the man who is
seeking wisdom. It is true no really wise man ever was on earth, or
ever will be. But that is the very reason why we are all so
impassioned for wisdom, because every bit we seize only opens the door
to more. If we could get it in full, if some time or other, knowing
that we are now wise, we could sit down in our armchairs with nothing
further to do, it would be a death blow to our colleges. Nobody would
attend them or care for wisdom longer. An aim which one can reach, and
discover to be finally ended, moves only children. They will make
collections of birds' eggs, though conceivably they might obtain every
species in the neighborhood. But these are not the things which excite
earnest men. They run after fame, because they can never be quite
famous. They may become known to every person on their street, but
there is the street beyond. Or to every one in their town, but there
are other towns. Or if to every person on earth, there are still the
after ages. Entire fame cannot be had; and exactly on that account it
stirs every impulse of our nature in pursuit.