The Man Who Never Alters His Opinions

If A Thing Loves, It Is Infinite.

[l]et Light Rise From The Chambers Of The East, And Bring The Honey'd Dew That Cometh On Waking Day. O Radiant Morning.

Acts Themselves Alone Are History, And These Are Neither The Exclusive Property Of Hume, Gibbon Nor Voltaire, Echard, Rapin, Plutarch, Nor Herodotus. Tell Me The Acts, O Historian, And Leave Me To Reason Upon Them As I Please; Away With Your Reasoning And Your Rubbish. All That Is Not Action Is Not Worth Reading.

If The Doors Of Perception Were Cleansed Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is, Infinite.

I Thought Love Lived In The Hot Sunshine, But O, He Lives In The Moony Light! I Thought To Find Love In The Heat Of Day, But Sweet Love Is The Comforter Of Night.