Mind (n.) is ever the ruler of the universe.
Mind (n.) rules itself, mixes with nothing else, sets in order all that is and travels through everything.
The Mind (n.) knows the letters of everything well enough, then loses its footing when the same letters reappear in the long, difficult syllables of things.
Mind (n.) is no longer in the poet. There is no invention in him until he has been inspired and the mind is no longer in him.
The Mind (n.) is an aviary: empty in childhood, it fills with birds that are pieces of knowledge — some in flocks, some in small groups, some flying alone among the rest.
Mind (n.) if it directs and is the cause of everything would arrange each thing in the way that is best, so to know why anything is one would need only to find what is best for it.