I Like Not Lady-slippers, Nor Yet The

A Man Is Known By The Company His Mind Keeps.

The Possession Of Unlimited Power Will Make A Despot Of Almost Any Man. There Is A Possible Nero In The Gentlest Human Creature That Walks.

The Possession Of Gold Has Ruined Fewer Men Than The Lack Of It.

What Is Lovely Never Dies, But Passes Into Other Loveliness, Star-dust, Or Sea-foam, Flower Or Winged Air.

Those Forms We Fancy Shadows, Those Strange Lights That Flash On Dank Morasses, The Quick Wind That Smites Us By The Roadside—are The Night's Innumerable Children. Unconfined By Shroud Or Coffin, Disembodied Souls, Uneasy Spirits, Steal Into The Air From Festering Graveyards When The Curfew Tolls At The Day's Death... And Wheresoever Murders Have Been Done, In Stately Palaces Or Lonesome Woods, Where'er A Soul Has Sold Itself And Lost Its High Inheritance, There, Hovering, Broods Some Sad, Invisible, Accurséd Ghost!