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.

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss and infidels adore.

Know then this truth, enough for man to know virtue alone is happiness below.

For forms of faith let graceless zealots fight; his can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

For forms of government, let fools contest; Whate'er is best administered, is best.

Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?