Blessed be the true life that the pauses between its throbs are not death!
I am an emptiness for Thee to fill; my soul a cavern for Thy sea
I say again, if I cannot draw a horse, I will not write THIS IS A HORSE under what I foolishly meant for one.
Ambition is but the evil shadow of aspiration.
But words are vain; reject them all— They utter but a feeble part: Hear thou the depths from which they call, The voiceless longing of my heart.
The purposes of God point to one simple end-that we should be as he is, think the same thoughts, mean the same things, possess the same blessedness.