Where There Is A Mother In The

Debate Is Angular, Conversation Circular And Radiant Of The Underlying Unity.

I Find My Past In My Present, And From These Forecast My Future.

All Unrest Is But The Struggle Of The Soul To Reassure Herself Of Her Inborn Immortality.

Thought Means Life, Since Those Who Do Not Think So Do Not Live In Any High Or Real Sense. Thinking Makes The Man.

The Fable Runs That The Gods Mix Our Pains And Pleasure In One Cup, And Thus Mingle For Us The Adulterate Immortality Which We Alone Are Permitted Here To Enjoy. Voluptuous Raptures, Could We Prolong These At Pleasure, Would Dissipate And Dissolve Us. A Sip Is The Most That Mortals Are Permitted From Any Goblet Of Delight.