Luck Is Just Another Word

A Painter Told Me That Nobody Could Draw A Tree Without In Some Sort Becoming A Tree.

Your Genuine Action Will Explain Itself, And Will Explain Your Other Genuine Actions. Your Conformity Explains Nothing.

Time Dissipates To Shining Ether The Solid Angularity Of Facts.

We Owe To Man Higher Succors Than Food And Fire. We Owe To Man, Man.

Look Out Into The July Night, And See The Broad Belt Of Silver Flame Which Flashes Up The Half Of Heaven, Fresh And Delicate As The Bonfires Of The Meadow-flies. Yet The Powers Of Numbers Cannot Compute Its Enormous Age,—lasting As Space And Time,—embosomed In Time And Space.