When Nations Grow Old The

When The Doors Of Perception Are Cleansed, Men Will See Things As They Truly Are, Infinite.

Sleep, Sleep, Beauty Bright,dreaming O'er The Joys Of Night.sleep, Sleep: In Thy Sleeplittle Sorrows Sit And Weep.

Prudence Is A Rich, Ugly, Old Maid Courted By Incapacity.

Embraces Are Comminglings From The Head Even To The Feet, And Not A Pompous High Priest Entering By A Secret Place.

He Who Pretends To Be Either Painter Or Engraver Without Being A Master Of Drawing Is An Imposter.