The Weak In Courage Is Strong In

If The Doors Of Perception Were Cleansed Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is, Infinite. For Man Has Closed Himself Up, Till He Sees All Things Thru Chinks Of His Cavern.

The Spirits Of The Air Live On The Smells Of Fruit; And Joy, With Pinions Light, Roves Round The Gardens, Or Sits Singing In The Trees.

The Little Ones Leaped, And Shouted, And Laugh'd And All The Hills Echoed

There Is No Mistake So Great As The Mistake Of Not Going On.

To Create A Little Flower Is The Labour Of Ages.