Sorrow Makes Us All Children Again.

It Is God In You That Responds To God Without, Or Affirms His Own Words Trembling On The Lips Of Another.

Writing Should Be The Settlement Of Dew On The Leaf.

Though The Wide Universe Is Full Of Good, No Kernel Of Nourishing Corn Can Come To Him But Through His Toil Bestowed On That Plot Of Ground Which Is Given To Him To Till.

We Walk Alone In The World. Friends, Such As We Desire, Are Dreams And Fables.

Man Is A Stream Whose Source Is Hidden. Our Being Is Descending Into Us From We Know Not Whence. The Most Exact Calculator Has Noprescience That Somewhat Incalculable May Not Balk The Very Next Moment. I Am Constrained Every Moment To Acknowledge A Higher Origin For Events Than The Will I Call Mine.