I Do Not Count The Hours I

Crime And Punishment Grow Out Of One Stem.

I Like The Silent Church Before The Service Begins, Better Than Any Preaching.

I Pack My Trunk, Embrace My Friends, Embark On The Sea And At Last Wake Up In Naples, And There Beside Me Is The Stern Fact, The Sad Self, Unrelenting, Identical, That I Fled From.

Each Mind Has Its Own Method. A True Man Never Acquires After College Rules.

Who Does Not Sometimes Envy The Good And The Brave, Who Are No More To Suffer From The Tumults Of The Natural World, And Await With Curious Complacency The Speedy Term Of His Own Conversation With Finite Nature?