Solitude Becomes A Sort Of Tangible Enemy,

And The Violet Lay Dead While The Odour Flew On The Wings Of The Wind O'er The Waters Blue.

Poetry, And The Principle Of Self, Of Which Money Is The Visible Incarnation, Are The God And The Mammon Of The World.

His Conversation Was Marked By Its Happy Abundance.

He Is Dead Who Called Me Into Being, And When I Shall Be No More The Very Remembrance Of Us Both Will Speedily Vanish.

Nothing Is So Painful To The Human Mind As A Great And Sudden Change.