What Doesn't Transmit Light Creates Its Own

Things Can Never Touch The Soul, But Stand Inert Outside It, So That Disquiet Can Arise Only From Fancies Within.

The Perfection Of Moral Character Consists In This, In Passing Every Day As The Last, And In Being Neither Violently Excited Nor Torpid Nor Playing The Hypocrite.

No Form Of Nature Is Inferior To Art; For The Arts Merely Imitate Natural Forms.

Is Any Man Afraid Of Change? Why What Can Take Place Without Change? What Then Is More Pleasing Or More Suitable To The Universal Nature?

Whatever May Happen To You Was Prepared For You From All Eternity; And The Implication Of Causes Was From Eternity Spinning The Thread Of Your Being.