Here Undoubtedly Lies The Chief Poetic Energy:

The World Is Full Of Hopeful Analogies And Handsome, Dubious Eggs, Called Possibilities.

I Can't Abide To See Men Throw Away Their Tools I' That Way, The Minute The Clock Begins To Strike, As If They Took No Pleasure I' Their Work, And Was Afraid O' Doing A Stroke Too Much.... I Hate To See A Man's Arms Drop Down As If He Was Shot, Before The Clock's Fairly Struck, Just As If He'd Never A Bit O' Pride And Delight In's Work. The Very Grindstone 'ull Go On Turning A Bit After You Loose It.

I Am Not Imposed Upon By Fine Words; I Can See What Actions Mean.

Somebody Put A Drop Under A Magnifying-glass And It Was All Semicolons And Parentheses.

Whatever May Be The Success Of My Stories, I Shall Be Resolute In Preserving My Incognito, Having Observed That A Nom De Plume Secures All The Advantages Without The Disagreeables Of Reputation.