Remorse Weeps Tears Of Blood.

The Form Is Mechanic When On Any Given Material We Impress A Predetermined Form. The Organic Form, On The Other Hand, Is Innate, It Shapes As It Develops Itself From Within.

Greatness And Goodness Are Not Means, But Ends.

Joy Is The Sweet Voice, Joy The Luminous Cloud. We In Ourselves Rejoice! And Thence Flows All That Charms Or Ear Or Sight, All Melodies The Echoes Of That Voice, All Colours A Suffusion From That Light.

I Love Being Superior To Myself Better Than [to] My Equals.

The Form Of Truth Will Bear Exposure, As Well As That Of Beauty Herself.