God, I Can Push The Grass Apart

Euclid Alone Has Looked On Beauty Bare. Let All Who Prate Of Beauty Hold Their Peace, And Lay Them Prone Upon The Earth And Cease To Ponder On Themselves, The While They Stare At Nothing, Intricately Drawn Nowhere.

I Find That I Never Lose Bach. I Don't Know Why I Have Always Loved Him So. Except That He Is So Pure, So Relentless And Incorruptible, Like A Principle Of Geometry.

I Screamed, And--lo!--infinity Came Down And Settled Over Me

If I Could Have Two Things In One: The Peace Of The Grave, And The Light Of The Sun.

Music My Rampart, And My Only One.