Come What May, I Have Been Blest.

But I Hate Things All Fiction... There Should Always Be Some Foundation Of Fact For The Most Airy Fabric - And Pure Invention Is But The Talent Of A Liar.

O Gold! I Still Prefer Thee Unto Paper, Which Makes Bank Credit Like A Bark Of Vapour.

We Are All The Fools Of Time And Terror: Days Steal On Us And Steal From Us; Yet We Live, Loathing Our Life, And Dreading Still To Die.

Oh Who Can Tell, Save He Whose Heart Hath Tried.

Kill A Man's Family, And He May Brook It, But Keep Your Hands Out Of His Breeches' Pocket.