The More A Thing Is Perfect, The

The Splendors That Belong Unto The Fame Of Earth Are But A Wind, That In The Same Direction Lasts Not Long.

Compassion Is Not A Passion; Rather A Noble Disposition Of The Soul, Made Ready To Receive Love, Mercy, And Other Charitable Passions.

It May Be That A More Subtle Person Would Find For This Thing A Reason Of Greater Subtlety: But Such Is The Reason That I Find, And That Liketh Me Best.

A Rapid Bolt Will Rend The Clouds Apart, And Every Single White Be Seared By Wounds. I Tell You This. I Want It All To Hurt.

Here My Powers Rest From Their High Fantasy, But Already I Could Feel My Being Turned- Instinct And Intellect Balanced Equally. As In A Wheel Whose Motion Nothing Jars- By The Love That Moves The Sun And The Other Stars.