Truth Is The Daughter Of Time, Not

The End Of Our Foundation Is The Knowledge Of Causes; And Secret Motions Of Things; And The Enlarging Of The Bounds Of Human Empire, To The Effecting Of All Things Possible.

For A Crowd Is Not Company; And Faces Are But A Gallery Of Pictures; And Talk But A Tinkling Cymbal, Where There Is No Love.

Revenge Is A Kind Of Wild Justice, Which The More A Man's Nature Runs To, The More Ought Law To Weed It Out.

Truth May Perhaps Come To The Price Of A Pearl, That Showeth Best By Day; But It Will Not Rise To The Price Of A Diamond Or Carbuncle, That Showeth Best In Varied Lights. A Mixture Of A Lie Doth Ever Add Pleasure. Doth Any Man Doubt That, If There Were Taken Out Of Men's Minds Vain Opinions, Flattering Hopes, False Valuations, Imaginations As One Would, And The Like, But It Would Leave The Minds Of A Number Of Men Poor Shrunken Things, Full Of Melancholy And Indisposition, And Unpleasing To Themselves?

Great Art Is Always A Way Of Concentrating, Reinventing What Is Called Fact, What We Know Of Our Existence- A Reconcentration… Tearing Away The Veils, The Attitudes People Acquire Of Their Time And Earlier Time. Really Good Artists Tear Down Those Veils