Man Is A Sun And His Senses

The Art Of Writing Books Is Not Yet Invented. But It Is At The Point Of Being Invented. Fragments Of This Nature Are Literary Seeds. There May Be Many An Infertile Grain Among Them: Nevertheless, If Only Some Come Up!

Building Worlds Is Not Enough For The Deeper Urging Mind; But A Loving Heart Sates The Striving Spirit.

In Cheerful Souls There Is No Wit. Wit Shows A Disturbance Of The Equipoise.

Hypotheses Are Nets: Only He Who Casts Will Catch.

Character And Fate Are Two Words For The Same Thing