When The Gods Come Among Men, They

It Is Frivolous To Fix Pedantically The Date Of Particular Inventions. They Have All Been Invented Over And Over Fifty Times. Man Is The Arch Machine, Of Which All These Shifts Drawn From Himself Are Toy Models. He Helps Himself On Each Emergency By Copying Or Duplicating His Own Structure, Just So Far As Then Need Is.

I--this Thought Which Is Called I--is The Mould Into Which The World Is Poured Like Melted Wax.

For No Man Can Write Anything Who Does Not Think That What He Writes Is, For The Time, The History Of The World.

Beauty Brings Its Own Fancy Price, For All That A Man Hath Will He Give For His Love.

If Eyes Were Made For Seeing, Then Beauty Is Its Own Excuse For Being.