To Do Nothing Is The Way To

Sleeping Or Waking, We Hear Not The Airy Footsteps Of The Strange Things That Almost Happen.

What A Happy And Holy Fashion It Is That Those Who Love One Another Should Rest On The Same Pillow.

I Want Nothing To Do With Politicians. Their Hearts Wither Away, And Die Out Of Their Bodies. Their Consciences Are Turned To India-rubber, Or To Some Substance As Black As That, And Which Will Stretch As Much.

Truth Often Finds Its Way To The Mind Close Muffled In Robes Of Sleep, And Then Speaks With Uncompromising Directness Of Matters In Regard To Which We Practise An Unconscious Self-deception During Our Waking Moments.

A Pure Hand Needs No Glove To Cover It.