Thus Men Forgot That All Deities Reside

Everything To Be Imagined Is An Image Of Truth.

Nothing Can Be More Contemptible Than To Suppose Public Records To Be True.

What Is The Price Of Experience? Do Men Buy It For A Song? Or Wisdom For A Dance In The Street? No, It Is Bought With The Price Of All The Man Hath, His House, His Wife, His Children.

O Winter! Bar Thine Adamantine Doors: The North Is Thine; There Hast Thou Build Thy Dark, Deep-founded Habitation. Shake Not Thy Roofs, Nor Bend Thy Pillars With Thine Iron Car.

More! More! Is The Cry Of A Mistaken Soul.