The Nakedness Of Woman Is The Work

Every Wolf's And Lion's Howl Raises From Hell A Human Soul.

To My Eye Rubens' Colouring Is Most Contemptible. His Shadows Are A Filthy Brown Somewhat The Colour Of Excrement.

Mock On, Mock On, Voltaire, Rousseau! Mock On, Mock On: 'tis All In Vain! You Throw The Sand Against The Wind, And The Wind Blows It Back Again. And Every Sand Becomes A Gem Reflected In The Beams Divine; Blown Back They Blind The Mocking Eye, But Still In Israel's Paths They Shine. The Atoms Of Democritus And Newton's Particles Of Light Are Sands Upon The Red Sea Shore, Where Israel's Tents Do Shine So Bright.

Every Mortal Loss Is An Immortal Gain.

Those Who Enter The Gates Of Heaven Are Not Beings Who Have No Passions Or Who Have Curbed The Passions, But Those Who Have Cultivated An Understanding Of Them.