[y]ou Possess All The Attributes Of A

By Words The Mind Is Winged.

Only By Being Suspended Aloft, By Dangling My Mind In The Heavens And Mingling My Rare Thought With The Ethereal Air, Could I Ever Achieve Strict Scientific Accuracy In My Survey Of The Vast Empyrean. Had I Pursued My Inquiries From Down There On The Ground, My Data Would Be Worthless. The Earth, You See, Pulls Down The Delicate Essence Of Thought To Its Own Gross Level.

Ye Children Of Man! Whose Life Is A Span, Protracted With Sorrow From Day To Day, Naked And Featherless, Feeble And Querulous, Sickly, Calamitous Creatures Of Clay!

Evil Events From Evil Causes Spring.

Do Not Take A Blind Guide.