Our Statute Is A Currency Which We

There Is Hope In Extravagance, There Is None In Routine.

The Soul Comes From Without Into The Human Body, As Into A Temporary Abode, And It Goes Out Of It Anew… It Passes Into Other Habitations, For The Soul Is Immortal.

And The Glory Of Character Is In Affronting The Horrors Of Depravity To Draw Thence New Nobilities Of Power: As Art Lives And Thrills In New Use And Combining Of Contrasts, And Mining Into The Dark Evermore For Blacker Pits Of Night.

Evil Is Merely Privative, Not Absolute: It Is Like Cold, Which Is The Privation Of Beat.

The Modernness Of All Good Books Seems To Give Men An Existence As Wide As Man.