The Universe Is But One

To The Mean Eye All Things Are Trivial, As Certainly As To The Jaundiced They Are Yellow.

Does It Ever Give Thee Pause That Men Used To Have A Soul? Not By Hearsay Alone, Or As A Figure Of Speech, But As A Thruth That They Knew And Acted Upon. Verily It Was Another World Then, But Yet It Is A Pity We Have Lost The Tidings Of Our Souls. We Shall Have To Go In Search Of Them Again Or Worse In All Ways Shall Befall Us.

The Depth Of Our Despair Measures What Capability And Height Of Claim We Have To Hope.

Men Seldom, Or Rather Never For A Length Of Time And Deliberately, Rebel Against Anything That Does Not Deserve Rebelling Against.

History Is The Distillation Of Rumour.