In The Particular Is Contained The Universal.

I Should Tell You That Honestly, On My Honour Of A Nearwicked, I Always Think In A Wordworth's Of That Primed Favourite Continental Poet, Daunty, Gouty And Shopkeeper, A.g., Whom The Generality Admoyers In This That Is And That This Is To Come.

Your Mind Will Give Back To You Exactly What You Put Into It.

No Pen, No Ink, No Table, No Room, No Time, No Quiet, No Inclination.

Heart Of My Heart, Were It More, More Would Be Laid At Your Feet.

Hold To The Now, The Here, Through Which All Future Plunges To The Past.