I Count Only The Hours That Are

(there Is) No Other Means Of Escaping From One's Consciousness Than To Deny It, To Look Upon It As An Organic Disease Of The Terrestrial Intelligence - A Disease Which We Must Endeavor To Cure By An Action Which Must Appear To Us An Action Of Violent And Willful Madness, But Which, On The Other Side Of Our Appearances, Is Probably An Action Of Health. ("of Immortality")

Nothing In The Whole World Is So Athirst For Beauty As The Soul, Nor Is There Anything To Which Beauty Clings So Readily.

No Living Creature, Not Even Man, Has Achieved, In The Centre Of His Sphere, What The Bee Has Achieved In Her Own: And Were Some One From Another World To Descend And Ask Of The Earth The Most Perfect Creation Of The Logic Of Life, We Should Needs Have To Offer The Humble Comb Of Honey.

I Am Moved By The Light.

There Comes No Adventure But Wears To Our Soul The Shape Of Our Everyday Thoughts.