All things by immortal power. Near of far, to each other linked are, that thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.
And left the flushed print in a poppy there.
The devil doesn't know how to sing, only how to howl.
I fled Him down the nights and down the days I fled Him down the arches of the years I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears I hid from him, and under running laughter.
What you theoretically know, vividly realize.
In all change, well looked into, the germinal good out-vails the apparent ill.
