The well of Providence is deep. It's the buckets we bring to it that are small.
For the more a soul conforms to the sanity of others, the more does it become insane.
We are tomorrow's past.
Fragrance is the voice of inanimate things.
The love of nature is a passion for those in whom it once lodges. It can never be quenched. It cannot change. It is a furious, burning, physical greed, as well as a state of mystical exaltation. It will have its own.
But when you dwell in a house you mislike, you will look out of a window a deal more than those that are content with their dwelling.