The Clouds, - The Only Birds That

To Gaze Into The Depths Of The Sea Is, In The Imagination, Like Beholding The Vast Unknown, And From Its Most Terrible Point Of View. The Submarine Gulf Is Analogous To The Realm Of Night And Dreams. There Also Is Sleep, Unconsciousness, Or At Least Apparent Unconsciousness, Of Creation. There In The Awful Silence And Darkness, The Rude First Forms Of Life, Phantomlike, Demoniacal, Pursue Their Horrible Instincts.

Emotion Is Always New And The Word Has Always Served; Therein Lies The Difficulty Of Expressing Emotion.

Common Sense Is In Spite Of, Not As The Result Of Education.

Profound Hearts, Wise Minds, Take Life As God Makes It; It Is A Long Trial, And Unintelligible Preparation For The Unknown Destiny.

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.