Puns Are The Droppings Of Soaring Wits.

The Soul Has Illusions As The Bird Has Wings: It Is Supported By Them.

I Believe In Religion Against The Religious; In The Pitifulness Of Orisons, And In The Sublimity Of Prayer.

Prayer Is An August Avowal Of Ignorance.

The Eye Of A Man Should Be Still More Reverent Before The Rising Of A Young Maiden Than Before The Rising Of A Star. The Possibility Of Touch Should Increase Respect. The Down Of The Peach, The Dust Of The Plum, The Radiated Crystal Of Snow, The Butterfly’s Wing Powdered With Feathers, Are Gross Things Beside That Chastity That Does Not Even Know It Is Chaste. The Young Maiden Is Only The Glimmer Of A Dream And Is Not Yet Statue. Her Alcove Is Hidden In The Shadows Of The Ideal. The Indiscreet Touch Of The Eye Desecrates This Dim Penumbra. Here, To Gaze, Is To Profane.

It Is Often Necessary To Know How To Obey A Woman In Order Sometimes To Have The Right To Command Her.