The sages have a hundred maps to give
That trace their crawling cosmos like a tree
They rattle reason out through many a sieve
That stores the sand but lets the gold go free
And all these things are less than dust to me
Because my name is Lazarus and I live.

“There is but an inch of difference between the cushioned chamber and the padded…”

“The truth is that exploration and enlargement make the world smaller. The teleg…”

“Love is not blind; that is the last thing that it is. Love is bound; and the mo…”

“Estates are sometimes held by foolish forms, the breaking of a stick or the pay…”