No One Suspects The Days

When A Happy Person Comes Into The Room, It Is As If Another Candle Has Been Lit.

The Eye Is The First Circle; The Horizon Which It Forms Is The Second; And Throughout Nature This Primary Figure Is Repeated Without End.

The Foolish Man Wonders At The Unusual, But The Wise Man At The Usual.

Music Is The Poor Man's Parnassus.

The End Of Being Is To Know; And If You Say, The End Of Knowledge Is Action,-why, Yes, But The End Of That Action Again, Is Knowledge.