Excessive sorrow laughs. Excessive joy weeps.

The moon, like a flower in heaven's high bower, with silent delight sits and smiles on the night.

Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?

The pure soul shall mount on native wings, . . . and cut a path into the heaven of glory.

Art is the tree of life. Science is the tree of death.

thus men forgot that all deities reside in the human breast.

He who replies to words of doubt doth put the light of knowledge out.