He who sees the Infinite in all things sees God.

Execution is the chariot of genius.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there's more conversation.

And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England's mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England's pleasant pastures seen?

Joy and woe are woven fine.

This life's dim windows of the soul Distorts the heavens from pole to pole And leads you to believe a lie When you see with, not through, the eye.