Books, Indeed, Were His Sole Luxuries

Quoth The Raven, "nevermore.

Boston: Their Hotels Are Bad. Their Pumpkin Pies Are Delicious. Their Poetry Is Not So Good.

It All Depends On The Robber's Knowledge Of The Loser's Knowledge Of The Robber. - Daupin

And Each Separate Dying Ember Wrought Its Ghost Upon The Floor.

No Thinking Being Lives Who, At Some Luminous Point Of His Life Of Thought, Has Not Felt Himself Lost Amid The Surges Of Futile Efforts At Understanding, Or Believing, That Anything Exists Greater Than His Own Soul.