A Gothic Church Is A Petrified Religion.

Either We Have An Immortal Soul, Or We Have Not. If We Have Not, We Are Beasts,--the First And The Wisest Of Beasts, It May Be, But Still True Beasts. We Shall Only Differ In Degree And Not In Kind,--just As The Elephant Differs From The Slug. But By The Concession Of The Materialists Of All The Schools, Or Almost All, We Are Not Of The Same Kind As Beasts, And This Also We Say From Our Own Consciousness. Therefore, Methinks, It Must Be The Possession Of The Soul Within Us That Makes The Difference.

The Principle Of The Gothic Architecture Is Infinity Made Imaginable.

The One Red Leaf, The Last Of Its Clan, That Dances As Often As Dance It Can, Hanging So Light, And Hanging So High, On The Topmost Twig That Looks Up At The Sky.

Every Crime Has, In The Moment Of Its Perpetration, Its Own Avenging Angel-dark Misgiving, An Ominous Sinking At The Inmost Heart.

In Xanadu Did Kubla Khan A Stately Pleasure-dome Decree: Where Alph, The Sacred River, Ran Through Caverns Measureless To Man Down To A Sunless Sea.