All Our Knowledge Merely Helps Us To

Wisdom Requires No Form; Her Beauty Must Vary, As Varies The Beauty Of Flame. She Is No Motionless Goddess, For Ever Couched On Her Throne.

As Soon As We Put Something Into Words, We Devalue It In A Strange Way. We Think We Have Plunged Into The Depths Of The Abyss, And When We Return To The Surface The Drop Of Water On Our Pale Fingertips No Longer Resembles The Sea From Which It Comes. We Delude Ourselves That We Have Discovered A Wonderful Treasure Trove, And When We Return To The Light Of Day We Find That We Have Brought Back Only False Stones And Shards Of Glass; And Yet The Treasure Goes On Glimmering In The Dark, Unaltered.

The Hour Of Justice Does Not Strike On The Dials Of This World.

Many A Happiness In Life, A Many A Disaster, Is Due To Chance Alone; But The Peace Within Us Can Never Be Governed By Chance.

Nothing In The Whole World Is So Athirst For Beauty As The Soul, Nor Is There Anything To Which Beauty Clings So Readily.