Books Are The Windows Through

Laughter Is Day, And Sobriety Is Night; A Smile Is The Twilight That Hovers Gently Between Both, More Bewitching Than Either.

It Gives One A Sudden Start In Going Down A Barren, Stoney Street, To See Upon A Narrow Strip Of Grass, Just Within The Iron Fence, The Radiant Dandelion, Shining In The Grass, Like A Spark Dropped From The Sun.

A Man Ought To Carry Himself In The World As An Orange Tree Would If It Could Walk Up And Down In The Garden, Swinging Perfume From Every Little Censer It Holds Up In The Air.

O Never Harm The Dreaming World, The World Of Green, The World Of Leaves, But Let Its Million Palms Unfold The Adoration Of The Trees Of All Man's Works Of Art, A Cathedral Is Greatest. A Vast And Majestic Tree Is Greater Than That.

It Is One Of The Worst Effects Of Prosperity To Make A Man A Vortex Instead Of A Fountain; So That, Instead Of Throwing Out, He Learns Only To Draw In.