The Latest Gospel In This World Is,

Blessed Is He Who Has Found His Work; Let Him Ask No Other Blessedness. He Has A Work, A Life-purpose; He Has Found It, And Will Follow It! How, As A Free-flowing Channel, Dug And Torn By Noble Force Through The Sour Mudswamp Of One's Existence, Like An Ever-deepening River There, It Runs And Flows

Whoso Has Sixpence Is Sovereign (to The Length Of Sixpence) Over All Men; Commands Cooks To Feed Him, Philosophers To Teach Him, Kings To Mount Guard Over Him,to The Length Of Sixpence.

Science Must Have Originated In The Feeling That Something Was Wrong.

Our Very Walking Is An Incessant Falling; A Falling And A Catching Of Ourselves Before We Come Actually To The Pavement. It Is Emblematic Of All Things A Man Does.

Oblivion Is The Dark Page, Whereon Memory Writes Her Light-beam Characters, And Makes Them Legible; Were It All Light, Nothing Could Be Read There, Any More Than If It Were All Darkness.