Everything To Be Imagined Is An Image

The Imagination Is Not A State: It Is The Human Existence Itself.

Time Is The Mercy Of Eternity; Without Time's Swiftness Which Is The Swiftest Of All Things, All Were Eternal Torment.

Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

Then The Parson Might Preach, & Drink, & Sing, And We'd Be As Happy As Birds In The Spring; And Modest Dame Lurch, Who Is Always At Church, Would Not Have Bandy Children, Nor Fasting, Nor Birch.

Why Stand We Here Trembling Around, Calling On God For Help, And Not Ourselves, In Whom God Dwells?