It is the mysterious touch of the ideal that animates and sustains the real, and through it alone we can discover and affirm the ideal.

Since love first made the breast an instrument Of fierce lamenting, by its flame my heart Was molten to a mirror, like a rose I pluck my breast apart, that I may hang This mirror in your sight.

The scientific observer of Nature is a kind of mystic seeker in the act of prayer.

Though the terror of the sea gives to none security, in the secret of the shell. Self preserving we may dwell.

I have never considered myself a poet. I have no interest in poetic artistry.

The ultimate purpose of religious life is to make this evolution move in a direction far more important to the destiny of the ego than the moral health of the social fabric which forms his present environment.

But only a brief moment is granted to the brave one breath or two, whose wage is the long nights of the grave.