"When you reach for a star, only angels are there. And it's not very far, just a step on a stair."

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Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span Where weeping Virtue parts with man; Where love without lust dwells, and bends What way we please without self-ends. An age of mysteries! which he Must live that would God's face see Which angels guard, and with it play, Angels! which foul men drive away.

— Henry Vaughan