One Glance, One Word From

The Mortal Race Is Far Too Weak Not To Grow Dizzy On Unwonted Brights.

Nature! We Are Surrounded By Her And Locked In Her Clasp: Powerless To Leave Her, And Powerless To Come Closer To Her. Unasked And Unwarned She Takes Us Up Into The Whirl Of Her Dance, And Hurries On With Us Till We Are Weary And Fall From Her Arms.

We Have Time Enough If We But Use It Aright

It Is A Great Pleasure To Transport One's-self Into The Spirit Of The Times; To See How A Wise Man Has Thought Before Us, And To What A Glorious Height We Have At Last Carried It.

It Is In Self-limitation That A Master First Shows Himself.