If A Pig Could Give His Mind

Upon The Purple Tree-tops Far Away, And On The Green Height Near At Hand Up Which The Shades Were Slowly Creeping, There Was An Equal Hush. Between The Real Landscape And Its Shadow In The Water, There Was No Division; Both Were So Untroubled And Clear, And, While So Fraught With Solemn Mystery Of Life And Death, So Hopefully Reassuring To The Gazer's Soothed Heart, Because So Tenderly And Mercifully Beautiful.

I Only Ask To Be Free. The Butterflies Are Free. Mankind Will Surely Not Deny To Harold Skimpole What It Concedes To The Butterflies.

There Are Dark Shadows On The Earth, But Its Lights Are Stronger In The Contrast. Some Men, Like Bats Or Owls, Have Better Eyes For The Darkness Than For The Light. We, Who Have No Such Optical Powers, Are Better Pleased To Take Our Last Parting Look At The Visionary Companions Of Many Solitary Hours, When The Brief Sunshine Of The World Is Blazing Full Upon Them.

The Men Who Learn Endurance, Are They Who Call The Whole World, Brother.

The Persons On Whom I Have Bestowed My Dearest Love Lie Deep In Their Graves; But, Although The Happiness And Delight Of My Life Lie Buried There Too, I Have Not Made A Coffin Of My Heart, And Sealed It Up For Ever On My Best Affections. Deep Affliction Has Only Made Them Stronger; It Ought, I Think, For It Should Refine Our Nature.