Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains.

The flower's are gone when the Fruits appear to ripen.

Curse on all laws but those which love has made.

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.

So vast is art, so narrow human wit.

Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd, Nor pass these lips in holy silence seal'd. Hide it, my heart, within that close disguise, Where mixed with Gods, his lov'd idea lies: O write it not, my hand - the name appears Already written - wash it out, my tears! In vain lost Eloisa weeps and prays, Her heart still dictates, and her hand obeyes.

Genius involves both envy and calumny.