Home Is Where The Books Are

Travellers, Like Poets, Are Mostly An Angry Race: By Falling Into A Daily Fit Of Passion, I Proved To The Governor And His Son, Who Were Profuse In Their Attentions, That I Was In Earnest.

How Melancholy A Thing Is Success. Whilst Failure Inspirits A Man, Attainment Reads The Sad Prosy Lesson That All Our Glories "are Shadows, Not Substantial Things." Truly Said The Sayer, "disappointment Is The Salt Of Life" A Salutary Bitter Which Strengthens The Mind For Fresh Exertion, And Gives A Double Value To The Prize.

Do What Thy Manhood Bids Thee Do.

Indeed He Knows Not How To Know Who Knows Not Also How To Un-know.

The Now, That Indivisible Point Which Studs The Length Of Infinite Line Whose Ends Are Nowhere, Is Thine All , The Puny All Thou Callest Thine.