And See All Sights From

Hither And Thither Spins The Wind-borne Mirroring Soul, A Thousand Glimpses Wins, And Never Sees A Whole.

Coleridge: Poet And Philosopher Wrecked In A Mist Of Opium.

Weary Of Myself, And Sick Of Asking What I Am, And What I Ought To Be, At This Vessel's Prow I Stand, Which Bears Me Forwards, Forwards, O'er The Starlit Sea.

Greatness Is A Spiritual Condition.

The Nice Sense Of Measure Is Certainly Not One Of Nature's Gifts To Her English Children ... We Have All Of Us Yielded To Infatuation At Some Moment Of Our Lives.