Often one's dear friend talks something which one scruples to call rigmarole.
All that is literature seeks to communicate power
Grief even in a child hates the light and shrinks from human eyes.
No progressive knowledge will ever medicine that dread misgiving of a mysterious and pathless power given to words of a certain import.
All parts of knowledge have their origin in metaphysics, and finally, perhaps, revolve into it.
The peace of nature and of the innocent creatures of god seems to be secure and deep, only so long as the presence of man and his restless and unquiet spirit are not there to trouble its sanctity.