"Prisons are built with stones of Law. Brothels with the bricks of religion." — William Blake

I have no name: I am but two days old. What shall I call thee? I happy am, Joy is my name. Sweet joy befall thee!

The man who never in his mind and thoughts travel'd to heaven is no artist.

Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief?

He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.