The Past Is All Holy To Us;

Literature Is The Thought Of Thinking Souls.

The Coldest Word Was Once A Glowing New Metaphor.

Respectable Professors Of The Dismal Science.

When I Gaze Into The Stars, They Look Down Upon Me With Pity From Their Serene And Silent Spaces, Like Eyes Glistening With Tears Over The Little Lot Of Man. Thousands Of Generations, All As Noisy As Our Own, Have Been Swallowed Up By Time, And There Remains No Record Of Them Any More. Yet Arcturus And Orion, Sirius And Pleiades, Are Still Shining In Their Courses, Clear And Young, As When The Shepherd First Noted Them In The Plain Of Shinar!

God Almighty Never Created A Man Half As Wise As He Looks.