The Universe Is But One Vast Symbol

All Work Is As Seed Sown; It Grows And Spreads, And Sows Itself Anew.

In The True Literary Man There Is Thus Ever, Acknowledged Or Not By The World, A Sacredness: He Is The Light Of The World; The World's Priest; -- Guiding It, Like A Sacred Pillar Of Fire, In Its Dark Pilgrimage Through The Waste Of Time.

Everywhere The Human Soul Stands Between A Hemisphere Of Light And Another Of Darkness On The Confines Of Two Everlasting Empires, - Necessity And Free Will.

Might And Right Do Differ Frightfully From Hour To Hour, But Then Centuries To Try It In, They Are Found To Be Identical.

It Is Well Said, In Every Sense, That A Man's Religion Is The Chief Fact With Regard To Him.