There Is Nothing, In Itself,

Kitsch Is: A Species Of Beauty, Which, As It Is Florid And Superficial, Pleases At First; But Soon Palls Upon The Taste, And Is Rejected With Disdain, At Least Rated At Much Lower Value.

There Is An Universal Tendency Among Mankind To Conceive All Beings Like Themselves, And To Transfer To Every Object, Those Qualities, With Which They Are Familiarly Acquainted, And Of Which They Are Intimately Conscious. We Find Human Faces In The Moon, Armies In The Clouds; And By A Natural Propensity, If Not Corrected By Experience And Reflection, Ascribe Malice Or Good-will To Every Thing, That Hurts Or Pleases Us.

When I Think Of God, When I Think Of Him As Existent, And When I Believe Him To Be Existent, My Idea Of Him Neither Increases Nordiminishes. But As It Is Certain There Is A Great Difference Betwixt The Simple Conception Of The Existence Of An Object, And The Belief Of It, And As This Difference Lies Not In The Parts Or Composition Of The Idea Which We Conceive; It Follows, That It Must Lie In The Manner In Which We Conceive It.

There Is A Set Of Harmless Liars, Frequently To Be Met With In Company, Who Deal Much In The Marvellous. Their Usual Intention Is To Please And Entertain; But As Men Are Most Delighted With What They Conceive To Be The Truth, These People Mistake The Means Of Pleasing, And Incur Universal Blame.

How Can We Satisfy Ourselves Without Going On In Infinitum? And, After All, What Satisfaction Is There In That Infinite Progression? Let Us Remember The Story Of The Indian Philosopher And His Elephant. It Was Never More Applicable Than To The Present Subject. If The Material World Rests Upon A Similar Ideal World, This Ideal World Must Rest Upon Some Other; And So On, Without End. It Were Better, Therefore, Never To Look Beyond The Present Material World.