Who are next to knaves? Those that converse with them.
You beat your Pate, and fancy Wit will come: Knock as you please, there's no body at home.
Fly, dotard, fly! With thy wise dreams and fables of the sky.
I am his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
When to the Permanent is sacrificed the Mutable, the prize is thine: the drop returneth whence it came. The Open Path leads to the changeless change - Non-Being, the glorious state of Absoluteness, the Bliss past human thought.
Words are like Leaves; and where they most abound, Much Fruit of Sense beneath is rarely found.