When The Night Is Darkest, The Stars

In The Vaunted Works Of Art, The Master-stroke Is Nature's Part.

The Angels Are So Enamored Of The Language That Is Spoken In Heaven That They Will Not Distort Their Lips With The Hissing And Unmusical Dialects Of Men, But Speak Their Own, Whether Their Be Any Who Understand It Or Not.

In Old Persons, When Thus Fully Expressed, We Often Observe A Fair, Plump, Perennial Waxen Complexion, Which Indicates That All The Ferment Of Earlier Days Has Subsided Into Serenity Of Thought And Behavior.

We Owe To Man Higher Succors Than Food And Fire. We Owe To Man, Man.

A Man Is A God In Ruins.