A pleasant voice, and nothing more,—doth he not speak parables?
Look to thy soul, O man, for none can be surety for his brother:
Behold, for heaven—or for hell,—thou canst not escape from Immortality!
OF IDEAS.
Mind is like a volatile essence, flitting hither and thither,
A solitary sentinel of the fortress body, to show himself everywhere by turns:
Mind is indivisible and instant, with neither parts nor organs,