Hypotheses Are Nets: Only He Who Casts

Where Are We Really Going? Always Home.

We Never Completely Comprehend Ourselves, But We Can Do Far More Than Comprehend.

There Is But One Temple In The Universe, And That Is The Body Of Man.

I Was Still Blind, But Twinkling Stars Did Dance Throughout My Being's Limitless Expanse, Nothing Had Yet Drawn Close, Only At Distant Stages I Found Myself, A Mere Suggestion Sensed In Past And Future Ages.

The Art Of Writing Books Is Not Yet Invented. But It Is At The Point Of Being Invented. Fragments Of This Nature Are Literary Seeds. There May Be Many An Infertile Grain Among Them: Nevertheless, If Only Some Come Up!