The Ox Suffers, The Cart Complains.

I Would Rather Be The Head Of A Fly Than The Tail Of A Lion.

The Brutalities Of Progress Are Called Revolutions. When They Are Over We Realize This: That The Human Race Has Been Roughly Handled, But That It Has Advanced.

For Sight Is Woman-like And Shuns The Old.

Who Then Understands The Reciprocal Flux And Reflux Of The Infinitely Great And The Infinitely Small, The Echoing Of Causes In The Abysses Of Being, And The Avalanches Of Creation?

A Queen, Devoid Of Beauty Is Not Queen; She Needs The Royalty Of Beauty's Mien.