Things Refuse To Be Mismanaged

A Man Must Thank His Defects, And Stand In Some Terror Of His Talents.

The Word Unto The Prophet Spoken Was Writ On Tablets Yet Unbroken: The Word By Seers Or Sibyls Told, In Groves Of Oak Or Fanes Of Gold, Still Floats Upon The Morning Wind, Still Whispers To The Willing Mind.

How Beautiful To Have The Church Always Open, So That Every Tired Wayfaring Man May Come In And Be Soothed By All That Art Can Suggest Of A Better World When He Is Weary With This.

Judge Of Your Natural Character By What You Do In Your Dreams.

Out Of Sleeping A Waking, Out Of Waking A Sleep.