A strong argument for the religion of Christ is this - that offences against Charity are about the only ones which men on their death-beds can be made - not to understand - but to feel - as crime.
All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry.
All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.
Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and the atrocity.
I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.
I have great faith in fools; self-confidence my friends call it.
I have no faith in human perfectability. I think that human exertion will have no appreciable effect upon humanity. Man is now only more active - not more happy - nor more wise, than he was 6000 years ago.
I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect - in terror.
I wish I could write as mysterious as a cat.
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