Paradise Is Always Where Love Dwells.

The Heart Needs Not For Its Heaven Much Space, Nor Many Stars Therein, If Only The Star Of Love Has Arisen.

A Sky Full Of Silent Suns.

It Is Easier And Handier For Men To Flatter Than To Praise.

There Are So Many Tender And Holy Emotions Flying About In Our Inward World, Which, Like Angels, Can Never Assume The Body Of An Outward Act; So Many Rich And Lovely Flowers Spring Up Which Bear No Seed, That It Is A Happiness Poetry Was Invented, Which Receives Into Its Limbs All These Incorporeal Spirits, And The Perfume Of All These Flowers.

In Science The New Is An Advance; But In Morals, As Contradicting Our Inner Ideals And Historic Idols, It Is Ever A Retrogression.