Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

It Is The Greatest Of Crimes To Depress True Art And Science.

O Earth, O Earth, Return! Arise From Out The Dewy Grass; Night Is Worn; And The Morn Rises From The Slumbrous Mass.

I Must Create A System Or Be Enslaved By Another Mans; I Will Not Reason And Compare: My Business Is To Create.

This Life's Dim Windows Of The Soul Distorts The Heavens From Pole To Pole And Leads You To Believe A Lie When You See With, Not Through, The Eye.

In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear.