Nor has he shown himself yet; for the entire merit of a man can never be made known; nor the sum of his demerits, if he have them.

We are only known by our names; as letters sealed up, we but read each other's superscriptions.
"So with the commonalty of us Mardians.

How then with those beings who every way are but too apt to be riddles.

In many points the works of our great poet Vavona, now dead a thousand moons, still remain a mystery.

Some call him a mystic; but wherein he seems obscure, it is, perhaps, we that are in fault; not by premeditation spoke he those archangel thoughts, which made many declare, that Vavona, after all, was but a crack-pated god, not a mortal of sound mind.