The Ninety And Nine Are With Dreams,

I Have Before Suggested That A Genuine Blackguard Is Never Without A Pocket-handkerchief.

And Much Of Madness, And More Of Sin, And Horror The Soul Of The Plot.

If I Could Dwell Where Israfel Hath Dwelt And He Where I He Might Not Sing So Wildly Well A Mortal Melody While A Bolder Note Then This Might Swell From My Lyre In The Sky.

Man's Real Life Is Happy, Chiefly Because He Is Ever Expecting That It Soon Will Be So.

Stupidity Is A Talent For Misconception.