Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,/ The middle tree and highest there that grew, / Sat like a cormorant.

Satan exalted sat, by merit raised / To that bad eminence.

Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste Brought death into the world, and all our woe

But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a juniper tree: and he requested for himself that he might die; and said, It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life; for I am not better than my fathers.

No one I think is in my tree, I mean it must be high or low.

Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them to be as active as that soul was whose progeny they are; nay they do preserve as in a vial the purest efficacy and extraction of that living intellect that bred them