I Count Only The Hours That Are

Many A Happiness In Life, A Many A Disaster, Is Due To Chance Alone; But The Peace Within Us Can Never Be Governed By Chance.

Can We Conceive What Humanity Would Be If It Did Not Know The Flowers?

Most Creatures Have A Vague Belief That A Very Precarious Hazard, A Kind Of Transparent Membrane, Divides Death From Love; And That The Profound Idea Of Nature Demands That The Giver Of Life Should Die At The Moment Of Giving.

It Is Only In The Space That Our Thoughts And Our Feelings Enclose That Our Happiness Can Breathe In Freedom.

No Living Creature, Not Even Man, Has Achieved, In The Centre Of His Sphere, What The Bee Has Achieved In Her Own: And Were Some One From Another World To Descend And Ask Of The Earth The Most Perfect Creation Of The Logic Of Life, We Should Needs Have To Offer The Humble Comb Of Honey.