Yet a little waving hand built this huge wall, and that which builds is better than that which is built. The hand that built can topple it down much faster. Every thing looks permanent until its secret is known. Permanence is a word of degrees. Every thing is medial.
Moons are no more bounds to spiritual power than bat-balls.
The key to every man is his thought. Sturdy and defying though he look, he has a helm which he obeys, which is the idea after which all his facts are classified. He can only be reformed by showing him a new idea which commands his own. The life of man is a self-evolving circle, which, from a ring imperceptibly small, rushes on all sides outwards to new and larger circles, and that without end. The extent to which this generation of circles, wheel without wheel, will go, depends on the force or truth of the individual soul.