The Seat Of The Soul Is Where

It Is Not Merely The Multiplicity Of Tints, The Gladness Of Tone, Or The Balminess Of The Air Which Delight In The Spring; It Is The Still Consecrated Spirit Of Hope, The Prophecy Of Happy Days Yet To Come; The Endless Variety Of Nature, With Presentiments Of Eternal Flowers Which Never Shall Fade, And Sympathy With The Blessedness Of The Ever-developing World.

If The World Is A Precipitation Of Human Nature, So To Speak, Then The Divine World Is A Sublimation Of The Same. Both Occur In One Act. No Precipitation Without Sublimation. What Goes Lost There In Agility, Is Won Here.

How Do We See Physically? No Differently That We Do In Our Consciousness - By Means Of The Productive Power Of Imagination. Consciousness Is The Eye And Ear, The Sense For Inner And Outer Meaning.

Building Worlds Is Not Enough For The Deeper Urging Mind; But A Loving Heart Sates The Striving Spirit.

Most Observers Of The French Revolution, Especially The Clever And Noble Ones, Have Explained It As A Life-threatening And Contagious Illness. They Have Remained Standing With The Symptoms And Have Interpreted These In Manifold And Contrary Ways. Some Have Regarded It As A Merely Local Ill. The Most Ingenious Opponents Have Pressed For Castration. They Well Noticed That This Alleged Illness Is Nothing Other Than The Crisis Of Beginning Puberty.