Time and space, succession and extension, are merely accidental conditions of a thought.
The imagination can transcend them and more, in a free sphere of ideal existences.

Things, also, are in their essence what we choose to make them.

A thing is, according to the mode in which one looks at it.

"Where others," says Blake, "see but the dawn coming over the hill, I see the sons of God shouting for joy." What seemed to the world and to myself my future I lost irretrievably when I let myself be taunted into taking the action against your father, had, I daresay, lost in reality long before that.

What lies before me is the past.