And The Devil Did Grin, For His

Every Crime Has, In The Moment Of Its Perpetration, Its Own Avenging Angel-dark Misgiving, An Ominous Sinking At The Inmost Heart.

Swans Sing Before They Die - 'twere No Bad Thing Should Certain Persons Die Before They Sing.

Either We Have An Immortal Soul, Or We Have Not. If We Have Not, We Are Beasts,--the First And The Wisest Of Beasts, It May Be, But Still True Beasts. We Shall Only Differ In Degree And Not In Kind,--just As The Elephant Differs From The Slug. But By The Concession Of The Materialists Of All The Schools, Or Almost All, We Are Not Of The Same Kind As Beasts, And This Also We Say From Our Own Consciousness. Therefore, Methinks, It Must Be The Possession Of The Soul Within Us That Makes The Difference.

The Genius Of Coleridge Is Like A Sunken Treasure Ship, And Coleridge A Diver Too Timid And Lazy To Bring Its Riches To The Surface.

He Went Like One That Hath Been Stunn'd, And Is Of Sense Forlorn: A Sadder And A Wiser Man He Rose The Morrow Morn.