All We Are Is In

Hatred Like Love Feeds On The Merest Trifles. Everything Adds To It. Just As The Being We Love Can Do No Wrong, So The One We Hate Can Do No Right.

The Innocence Of Virgins Is Like Milk Which Turns When Exposed To A Clap Of Thunder, To A Tart Smell, To A Hot Day, To The Merest Nothing.

Science Is The Language Of The Temporal World; Love Is That Of The Spiritual World. Man, Indeed, Describes More Than He Explains; While The Angelic Spirit Sees And Understands. Science Saddens Man; Love Enraptures The Angel; Science Is Still Seeking; Love Has Found.

No Navigator Has Yet Traced Lines Of Latitude And Longitude On The Conjugal Sea.

Journalism Is A Giant Catapult Set In Motion By Pigmy Hatreds.