Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.

A Mathematical Point Is The Most Indivisble And Unique Thing Which Art Can Present.

Men Are Sponges, Which, To Pour Out, Receive; Who Know False Play, Rather Than Lose, Deceive. For In Best Understandings Sin Began, Angels Sinn'd First, Then Devils, And Then Man. Only Perchance Beasts Sin Not ; Wretched We Are Beasts In All But White Integrity.

Our Critical Day Is Not The Very Day Of Our Death; But The Whole Course Of Our Life.

If Ever Any Beauty I Did See, Which I Desired, And Got, 'twas But A Dream Of Thee.