My Hours Are Peaceful Centuries.

The Soul Knows Only The Soul; The Web Of Events Is The Flowing Robe In Which She Is Clothed.

We Walk Alone In The World. Friends, Such As We Desire, Are Dreams And Fables.

The Laws Of Each Are Convertible Into The Laws Of Any Other.

God Had Infinite Time To Give Us.... He Cut It Up Into A Near Succession Of New Mornings, And, With Each, Therefore, A New Idea, New Inventions, And New Applications.

Every Novel Is A Debtor To Homer.