To Be Is To Be Perceived

If We Admit A Thing So Extraordinary As The Creation Of This World, It Should Seem That We Admit Something Strange, And Odd, And New To Human Apprehension, Beyond Any Other Miracle Whatsoever.

I Am Apt To Think, If We Knew What It Was To Be An Angel For One Hour, We Should Return To This World, Though It Were To Sit On The Brightest Throne In It, With Vastly More Loathing And Reluctance Than We Would Now Descend Into A Loathsome Dungeon Or Sepulchre.

A Man Needs No Arguments To Make Him Discern And Approve What Is Beautiful: It Strikes At First Sight, And Attracts Without A Reason. And As This Beauty Is Found In The Shape And Form Of Corporeal Things, So Also Is There Analogous To It A Beauty Of Another Kind, An Order, A Symmetry, And Comeliness In The Moral World. And As The Eye Perceiveth The One, So The Mind Doth By A Certain Interior Sense Perceive The Other, Which Sense, Talent, Or Faculty, Is Ever Quickest And Purest In The Noblest Minds.

There Being In The Make Of An English Mind A Certain Gloom And Eagerness, Which Carries To The Sad Extreme; Religion To Fanaticism; Free-thinking To Atheism; Liberty To Rebellion.

What Is Mind? No Matter. What Is Matter? Never Mind.