Thou hast the keys of Paradise, oh, just, subtle, and mighty opium!

There is first the literature of KNOWLEDGE, and secondly, the literature of POWER. The function of the first is -- to teach; the function of the second is -- to move.

All parts of knowledge have their origin in metaphysics, and finally, perhaps, revolve into it.

Reserve is the truest expression of respect towards those who are its objects.

Surely everyone is aware of the divine pleasures which attend a wintry fireside; candles at four o'clock, warm hearthrugs, tea, a fair tea-maker, shutters closed, curtains flowing in ample draperies to the floor, whilst the wind and rain are raging audibly without.

All is finite in the present; and even that finite is infinite in it velocity of flight towards death. But in God there is nothing finite...Upon a night of earthquake he builds a thousand years of pleasant habitations for man. Upon the sorrow of an infant he raises oftentimes from human intellects glorious vintages that could not else have been.

Enough if every age produce two or three critics of this esoteric class, with here and there a reader to understand them.