In The Light Of Fuller Day, Of

Those Clouds Are Angels' Robes.

I Can Conceive Few Human States More Enviable Than That Of The Man To Whom, Panting In The Foul Laboratory, Or Watching For His Life Under The Tropic Forest, Isis Shall For A Moment Lift Her Sacred Veil, And Show Him, Once And For Ever, The Thing He Dreamed Not Of; Some Law, Or Even Mere Hint Of A Law, Explaining One Fact; But Explaining With It A Thousand More, Connecting Them All With Each Other And With The Mighty Whole, Till Order And Meaning Shoots Through Some Old Chaos Of Scattered Observations.

What I Want Is, Not To Possess Religion, But To Have A Religion That Shall Possess Me.

Pain Is No Evil, Unless It Conquers Us.

And How High Is Christ's Cross? As High As The Highest Heaven, And The Throne Of God, And The Bosom Of The Father That Bosom Out Of Which Forever Proceed All Created Things. Ay, As High As The Highest Heaven! For If You Will Receive It When Christ Hung Upon The Cross, Heaven Came Down On Earth, And Earth Ascended Into Heaven.