Colour Itself Is A Degree Of Darkness.

The Person Who In Shaky Times Also Wavers Only Increases The Evil, But The Person Of Firm Decision Fashions The Universe.

All That Is Transitory Is But A Metaphor.

Words Are Mere Sound And Smoke, Dimming The Heavenly Light.

How Fair Doth Nature Appear Again! How Bright The Sunbeams! How Smiles The Plain! The Flow'rs Are Bursting From Ev'ry Bough, And Thousand Voices Each Bush Yields Now. And Joy And Gladness Fill Ev'ry Breast! Oh Earth!-oh Sunlight! Oh Rapture Blest! Oh Love! Oh Loved One!

The Thinking Person Has The Strange Characteristic To Like To Create A Fantasy In The Place Of The Unsolved Problem, A Fantasy That Stays With The Person Even When The Problem Has Been Solved And Truth Made Its Appearance.