I Am In Love With This Green

In The Negro Countenance You Will Often Meet With Strong Traits Of Benignity. I Have Felt Yearnings Of Tenderness Towards Some Of These Faces.

By Myself Walking, To Myself Talking.

Mother's Love Grows By Giving.

A Garden Was The Primitive Prison, Till Man With Promethean Felicity And Boldness, Luckily Sinned Himself Out Of It.

There Are Like To Be Short Graces Where The Devil Plays Host.