We Sell The Thrones Of Angels For

The Virtues Of Society Are Vices Of The Saint. The Terror Of Reform Is The Discovery That We Must Cast Away Our Virtues, Or What We Have Always Esteemed Such, Into The Same Pit That Has Consumed Our Grosser Vices.

Win As If You Were Used To It, Lose As If You Enjoyed It For A Change.

Wherever A Man Comes, There Comes Revolution. The Old Is For Slaves.

Nature Is A Rag-merchant, Who Works Up Every Shred And Ort And End Into New Creations; Like A Good Chemist, Whom I Found, The Other Day, In His Laboratory, Converting His Old Shirts Into Pure White Sugar.

Our Eyes Are Holden That We Cannot See Things That Stare Us In The Face, Until The Hour Arrives When The Mind Is Ripened; Then We Behold Them, And The Time When We Saw Them Not Is Like A Dream.