The Eyes Of Men Converse

No One Suspects The Days To Be Gods.

Love Is The Bright Foreigner, The Foreign Self.

Or Whipping Its Rough Surface For A Trout.

Nothing In Nature Is Exhausted In Its First Use...in God, Every End Is Converted Into A New Means.

The Growth Of The Intellect Is Spontaneous In Every Expansion. The Mind That Grows Could Not Predict The Times, The Means, The Mode Of That Spontaneity. God Enters By A Private Door Into Every Individual.