And Swear No Where Lives A Woman

But Think That We Are But Turned Aside To Sleep.

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.

And Now Good Morrow To Our Waking Souls, Which Watch Not One Another Out Of Fear; For Love, All Love Of Other Sights Controls, And Makes One Little Room, An Everywhere. Let Sea-discoverers To New Worlds Have Gone, Let Maps To Other, Worlds On Worlds Have Shown, Let Us Possess One World, Each Hath One, And Is One.

Affliction Is A Treasure, And Scarce Any Man Hath Enough Of It.

At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners, Blow Your Trumpets, Angels.