Every Blade Has Two Edges; He Who

There Is A Sacred Horror About Everything Grand. It Is Easy To Admire Mediocrity And Hills; But Whatever Is Too Lofty, A Genius As Well As A Mountain, An Assembly As Well As A Masterpiece, Seen Too Near, Is Appalling.

A Mother's Arms Are Made Of Tenderness And Children Sleep Soundly In Them.

Desiring Always To Be In Mourning, He Clothed Himself With Night.

You Who Suffer Because You Love, Love Still More. To Die Of Love, Is To Live By It.

Curiosity Is Gluttony. To See Is To Devour.