Gratitude, In Itself, Is Heaven.

As A Man Is, So He Sees. As The Eye Is Formed, Such Are Its Powers.

The Fox Condemns The Trap, Not Himself.

I Went To The Garden Of Love, And Saw What I Never Had Seen: A Chapel Was Built In The Midst, Where I Used To Play On The Green. And The Gates Of This Chapel Were Shut, And 'thou Shalt Not' Writ Over The Door; So I Turn'd To The Garden Of Love, That So Many Sweet Flowers Bore. And I Saw It Was Filled With Graves, And Tomb-stones Where Flowers Should Be: And Priests In Black Gowns, Were Walking Their Rounds, And Binding With Briars, My Joys & Desires.

More! More! Is The Cry Of A Mistaken Soul.

The Fool Shall Not Enter Into Heaven Let Him Be Ever So Holy.