Every Idea Must Have A Visible Enfolding.

Mothers Arms Are Made Of Tenderness, And Sweet Sleep Blesses The Child Who Lies Therein.

In The Vast Cosmical Changes, The Universal Life Comes And Goes In Unknown Quantities, ... Sowing An Animalcule Here, Crumbling A Star There, Oscillating And ... Entangling, From The Highest To The Lowest, All Activities In The Obscurity Of A Dizzying Mechanism, Hanging The Flight Of An Insect Upon The Movement Of The Earth... Enormous Gearing, Whose First Motor Is The Gnat, And Whose Last Wheel Is The Zodiac.

Our Life Dreams The Utopia. Our Death Achieves The Ideal.

Style Is The Substance Of The Subject Called Unceasingly To The Surface.

Sublime Upon Sublime Scarcely Presents A Contrast, And We Need A Little Rest From Everything, Even The Beautiful.