We Cannot Live On Probabilities. The Faith

Fling Away Your Soul Once For All, Your Own Small Self; If You Will Find It Again. Count Not Even On Immortality.

The Soul Of Man Is Not A Thing Which Comes And Goes, Is Builded And Decays Like The Elemental Frame In Which It Is Set To Dwell, But A Very Living Force, A Very Energy Of God's Organic Will, Which Rules And Moulds This Universe.

I Think There Is A Spiritual Scent In Us Which Feels Mischief Coming, As They Say Birds Scent Storms.

I Cut A Hole In My Heart And Wrote With The Blood.

Who Shall Say That Those Poor Peasants Were Not Acting In The Spirit We Most Venerate, Most Adore; That Theirs Was Not The True Heart Language Which We Cannot Choose But Love? And What Has Been Their Reward? They Have Sent Down Their Name To Be The By-word Of All After Ages; The Worst Reproach Of The Worst Men A Name Convertible With Atheism And Devil-worship.