You Ask Me What Forces Me To

Joy Is The Reflex Of Terror.

Love Partakes Of The Soul Itself. It Is Of The Same Nature. Like It, It Is A Divine Spark, Like It, It Is Incorruptible, Indivisible, Imperishable, It Is The Point Of Fire Which Is Within Us, Which Is Immortal And Infinite, Which Nothing Can Limit And Nothing Can Extinguish.

To Be Wicked Does Not Insure Prosperity - For The Inn Did Not Succeed Well.

When A Man Understands The Art Of Seeing, He Can Trace The Spirit Of An Age And The Features Of A King Even In The Knocker On A Door.

The Owl Goes Not Into The Nest Of The Lark.