We Term Sleep A Death, And Yet

Had Not Almost Every Man Suffered By The Press, Or Were Not The Tyranny Thereof Become Universal, I Had Not Wanted Reason For Complaint.

Men Have Lost Their Reason In Nothing So Much As Their Religion, Wherein Stones And Clouts Make Martyrs.

The Created World Is But A Small Parenthesis In Eternity.

There Are No Grotesques In Nature; Not Anything Framed To Fill Up Empty Cantons, And Unnecessary Spaces.

There Is No Man Alone, Because Every Man Is A Microcosm, And Carries The Whole World About Him.