If A Man Is Not Rising Upwards

The Secondary Imagination I Consider As An Echo Of The Former, Co-existing With The Conscious Will, Yet Still As Identical With The Primary In The Kind Of Its Agency, And Differing Only In Degree, And In The Mode Of Its Operation. It Dissolves, Diffuses, Dissipates, In Order To Recreate: Or Where This Process Is Rendered Impossible, Yet Still At All Events It Struggles To Idealize And To Unify. It Is Essentially Vital, Even As All Objects (as Objects) Are Essentially Fixed And Dead.

But Oh! Each Visitation Suspends What Nature Gave Me Any My Birth, My Shaping Spirit Of Imagination.

He Saw A Lawyer Killing A Viper On A Dunghill Hard By His Own Stable; And The Devil Smiled, For It Put Him In Mind Of Cain And His Brother Abel.

Death But Supplies The Oil For The Inextinguishable Lamp Of Life.

A Rogue Is A Roundabout Fool.