The King Is The Man

That Great Mystery Of Time, Were There No Other; The Illimitable, Silent, Never-resting Thing Called Time, Rolling, Rushing On, Swift, Silent, Like An All-embracing Ocean Tide, On Which We And All The Universe Swim Like Exhalations, Like Apparitions Which Are, And Then Are Not: This Is Forever Very Literally A Miracle; A Thing To Strike Us Dumb,-for We Have No Word To Speak About It.

The Present Is The Living Sum-total Of The Whole Past.

"love Is Not Altogether A Delirium," Says He Elsewhere; "yet Has It Many Points In Common Therewith."

In A Symbol There Is Concealment And Yet Revelation: Here Therefore, By Silence And By Speech Acting Together, Comes A Double Significance. In The Symbol Proper, What We Can Call A Symbol, There Is Ever, More Or Less Distinctly And Directly, Some Embodiment And Revelation Of The Infinite; The Infinite Is Made To Blend Itself With The Finite, To Stand Visible, And As It Were, Attainable There. By Symbols, Accordingly, Is Man Guided And Commanded, Made Happy, Made Wretched.

Speech That Leads Not To Action, Still More That Hinders It, Is A Nuisance On The Earth.