The Path To Paradise Begins In Hell.

I Saw Within Its Depth How It Conceives All Things In A Single Volume Bound By Love Of Which The Universe Is The Scattered Leaves.

There Are Souls Beneath That Water. Fixed In Slimethey Speak Their Piece, End It, And Start Again:'sullen Were We In The Air Made Sweet By The Sun;in The Glory Of His Shining Our Hearts Poureda Bitter Smoke. Sullen Were We Begun;sullen We Lie Forever In This Ditch.'this Litany They Gargle In Their Throatsas If They Sand, But Lacked The Words And Pitch.

Doubting Pleases Me No Less Than Knowing

He Who Sees A Need And Waits To Be Asked For Help Is As Unkind As If He Had Refused It.

Oh Foolish Desires Of Mortals! How Weak Are The Reasons That Lead Us To Not Take Off Our Flight From The Ground.