Being The Inventor Of Sex Would Seem

The Mind Leaps, And Leaps Perhaps With A Sort Of Elation, Through The Immensities Of Space, But The Spirit, Frightened And Cold, Longs To Have Once More Above Its Head The Inverted Bowl Beyond Which May Lie Whatever Paradise Its Desires May Create.

Happiness Is Itself A Kind Of Gratitude.

Only Those Within Whose Own Consciousness The Sun Rise And Set, The Leaves Burgeon And Wither, Can Be Said To Be Aware Of What Living Is.

Happiness Is A Kind Of Gratitude And Vice Versa.

When A Man Wantonly Destroys One Of The Works Of Man We Call Him A Vandal. When He Destroys One Of The Works Of God We Call Him A Sportsman.