Every Man Is A Channel

We Prize Books, And They Prize Them Most Who Are Themselves Wise.

In My Utter Impotence To Test The Authenticity Of The Report Of My Senses, To Know Whether The Impressions They Make On Me Correspond With Outlying Objects, What Difference Does It Make, Whether Orion Is Up There In Heaven, Or Some God Paints The Image In The Firmament Of The Soul?

A Fly Is As Untamable As A Hyena.

We Seldom See Anybody Who Is Not Uneasy Or Afraid To Live.

The Forest Is My Loyal Friend A Delphic Shrine To Me.