And These Are Joys, Like Beauty, But

It Is Sad To See The Light Of Beauty Wane Away, Know Eyes Are Dimming, Bosoms Shrivelling, Feet Losing Their Springs, And Limbs Their Lily Roundness; But It Is Worse To Feel The Heart-spring Gone, To Lose Hope, Care Not For The Coming Thing, And Feel All Things Go To Decay Within Us.

Art Is A Man's Nature; Nature Is God's Art.

See The Sun! God's Crest Upon His Azure Shield, The Heavens.

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

Worthy Books Are Not Companions – They Are Solitudes: We Lose Ourselves In Them And All Our Cares.