As Our Inclinations, So Our

For The Butterfly, Mating And Propagation Involve The Sacrifice Of Life, For The Human Being, The Sacrifice Of Beauty.

How Shall We Plan, That All Be Fresh And New-- Important Matter Yet Attractive Too? [ger., Wie Machen Wir's, Dass Alles Frisch Und Neu Und Mit Bedeutung Auch Gefallig Sei?]

Distance... Is Like Futurity. A Dim Vastness Is Spread Before Our Souls; The Perceptions Of Our Mind Are As Obscure As Those Of Our Vision... But Alas! When We Have Attained Our Object, When The Distant 'there' Becomes The Present 'here,' All Is Changed; We Are As Poor And Circumscribed As Ever, And Our Souls Still Languish For Unattainable Happiness.

We Gladly Put Antiquity Above Our Age But Not Posterity. Only A Father Doesn't Begrudge His Son's Talent.

The Clever Reader Who Is Capable Or Reading Between These Lines What Does Not Stand Written In Them But Is Nevertheless Implied Will Be Able To Form Some Conception.