If Galileo had said in verse that the world moved, the inquisition might have let him alone.

It was then that the ecstasy and the dream began, in which emotion was the matter of the universe, and matter but an adventitious intrusion likely to hinder you from spinning where you wanted to spin.

The sky was clear - remarkably clear - and the twinkling of all the stars seemed to be but throbs of one body, timed by a common pulse.

Everybody is so talented nowadays that the only people I care to honor as deserving real distinction are those who remain in obscurity.

And yet to every bad there is a worse.

To dwellers in a wood, almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature.

But no one came. Because no one ever does.