Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.

Let her (Truth) and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse in a free and open encounter?

Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.

And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?

To be weak is miserable, Doing or suffering.

Contemplation is wisdom's best nurse.

Him that yon soars on golden wing, guiding the fiery-wheelèd throne, the Cherub Contemplation.