There Is No Applause That So Flatters

Love, The One Supreme, Unceasing Source Of Human Felicity, The One Sole Joy Which Lifts The Whole Mortal Existence Into The Empyrean, Was By It [christianity] Degraded Into The Mere Mechanical Action Of Reproduction.

The Philosopher Stands At His Desk In The Lecture Hall, And Demonstrates Away The Soul Of Man, And With Exact Thought Measures Out His Atoms And Resolves Him Back To Gas And Air. But The Revolutionary, Below In The Crowd, Hears, And Only Translates What He Hears Thus To His Brethren: 'let Us Drink While We May; Property Is Robbery; This Life Is All; Let Us Kill And Eat; There Is No God.

Imagination Without Culture Is Crippled And Moves Slowly; But It Can Be Pure Imagination, And Rich Also, As Folk-lore Will Tell The Vainest.

Emulation Is Active Virtue; Envy Is Brooding Malice.

Is There A More Pitiable Spectacle Than That Of A Wife Contending With Others For That Charm In Her Husband's Sight Which No Philters And No Prayers Can Renew When Once It Has Fled Forever? Women Are So Unwise. Love Is Like A Bird's Song Beautiful And Eloquent When Heard In Forest Freedom, Harsh And Worthless In Repetition When Sung From Behind Prison Bars. You Cannot Secure Love By Vigilance, By Environment, By Captivity. What Use Is It To Keep The Person Of A Man Beside You If His Soul Be Truant From You?