“Pleasure admitted in undue degree, enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.”

The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flow’r. Blind unbelief is sure to err And scan His work in vain; God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain.

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilirate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature.

And the tear that is wiped with a little address, May be follow’d perhaps by a smile.

Oh to have a lodge in some vast wilderness. Where rumors of oppression and deceit, of unsuccessful and successful wars may never reach me anymore.

Deep in unfathomable mines Of never failing skill He treasures up his bright designs,

To impute our recovery to medicine, and to carry our view no further, is to rob God of His honor, and is saying in effect that He has parted with the keys of life and death, and, by giving to a drug the power to heal us, has placed our lives out of His own reach.

A self-made man? Yes, and one who worships his creator.

I will pray, therefore, for blessings on my friends, even though they cease to be so, and upon my enemies, though they continue such.

Elegant as simplicity, and warm As ecstasy.

The man to solitude accustom’d long, Perceives in everything that lives a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees Have speech for him, and understood with ease,

There is in souls a sympathy with sounds.

No man can be a patriot on an empty stomach.

O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!

A fool must now and then be right, by chance

I pity them greatly, but I must be mum, for how could we do without sugar and rum?

God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform. He plants his footsteps in the sea, and rides upon the storm.

I try to deal with the complexities of power and social life, but as far as the visual presentation goes I purposely avoid a high degree of difficulty.

When a government is arrived to that degree of corruption as to be incapable of reforming itself, it would not lose much by being new moulded.

The so-called language of Barbara Kruger is vernacular language. Obviously, I pick through bits and pieces of it and figure out to some degree how to objectify my experience of the world, using pictures and words that construct and contain me.

The University of Google is where I got my degree from.

Conscription for war is inconsistent with freedom of conscience, which is not merely the right to believe but to act on the degree of truth that one receives, to follow a vocation which is God-inspired and God-directed.

If I had taken a doctoral degree, it would have stifled any writing capacity.

Whenever the intensity of looking reaches a certain degree, one becomes aware of an equally intense energy coming towards one through the appearance of whatever it is one is scrutinizing.

Without sattva you can never reach the Supreme. Wherever you are, in whatever station, from there you have to reach sattva in varying degrees because tamas will be reduced only when the mind’s agitations, vikshepas are quietened.