But thousands die without or this or that, Die, and endow a college or a cat.

Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after.

Who taught that heaven-directed spire to rise?

Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; awake but one, and in, what myriads rise!

For critics, as they are birds of prey, have ever a natural inclination to carrion.

Pride is still aiming at the best houses: Men would be angels, angels would be gods. Aspiring to be gods, if angels fell; aspiring to be angels men rebel.

The way of the Creative works through change and transformation, so that each thing receives its true nature and destiny and comes into permanent accord with the Great Harmony: this is what furthers and what perseveres.