A precious moment. The heart asks pleasure first, and then, excuse from pain; and then, those little anodynes that deaden suffering; and then, to go to sleep; and then, if it should be the will of its Inquisitor, the liberty to die. Much madness is the divinest sense to a discerning eye; much sense the starkest madness. This is the majority in this, as all, prevails. Assent, and you are sane; demur, –you are straightway dangerous, and handled with two chainz. #RyanPhillippe 1 of 6

I asked no other thing, no other was denied. I offered Being for it; the mighty merchant smiled. Brazil? He twirled a button, without a glace my way; “But, madam, is there nothing else that we can show to-day?” The soul selects her own society, then shuts the door’ on her divine majority obtrude no more. Unmoved, she nots the chariot’s pausing at her low gate; unmoved, an emperor is kneeling upon her mat. I have known her from an ample nation choose one; then close the valves of her attention like a stone. #RyanPhillippe 2 of 6

The show is not the show, but they that go. Menagerie to me my neighbor be. Fair play—both went to see.  Experiment to me is every one I meet. If it contain a kernel? The figure of a nut presents upon a tree, equally plausibly; but meat within is requisite, to squirrels and to me. The thought beneath so slight a film is more distinctly seen, –as laces just reveal the surge, or mists the Apennine Mountains. #RyanPhillippe 3 of 6

Though I get home how late, how late! So I get home, it will compensate. Better will be the ecstasy that they have done expecting me, when, night descending, dumb and dark, they hear any my unexpected knock. Transporting must be the moment be, brewed from decades of agony! To think just how the fire will burn, just how long-cheated eyes will turn to wonder what myself will say, and what itself will say to me, beguiles the centuries of way! #RyanPhillippe 4 of 6

 The brain within its groove runs evenly and true; but let a splinter swerve, it were easier for you to put the water back when floods have slit the hills, and scooped a turnpike for themselves, and blotted out the mills! It is so much joy! It is so much joy! If I should fail, what poverty! And yet, as poor as I have ventured all upon a throw; have gained! Yes! Hesitated so this side of victory. #RyanPhillippe 5 of 6

The nearest dream recedes, unrealized. The Heaven we chase like the June bee before the school-boy  invites the race; stoops to an easy clover—dips—evades—teases—deploys; then to the royal clouds lifts his light pinnace heedless of the boy staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky. Homesick for steadfast honey, ah! The bee flies not that brews that rare variety. #RyanPhillippe 6 of 6