If A Thing Loves, It Is Infinite.

Man Has No Body Distinct From His Soul; For That Called Body Is A Portion Of Soul Discerned By The Five Senses, The Chief Inlets Of Soul In This Age.

For Mercy Has A Human Heart Pity, A Human Face: And Love, The Human Form Divine, And Peace, The Human Dress.

Where Others See But The Dawn Coming Over The Hill, I See The Soul Of God Shouting For Joy.

Heaven Is In A Grain Of Sand.

The Modest Rose Puts Forth A Thorn,the Humble Sheep A Threat'ning Horn:while The Lily White Shall In Love Delight,nor A Thorn Nor A Threat Stain Her Beauty Bright.