I Like To Walk About Amidst The

All Language Is Rhetorical, And Even The Senses Are Poets.

I Have Imagination, And Nothing That Is Real Is Alien To Me.

It Is Rash To Intrude Upon The Piety Of Others: Both The Depth And The Grace Of It Elude The Stranger.

I Feel So Much The Continual Death Of Everything And Everybody, And Have So Learned To Reconcile Myself To It, That The Final And Official End Loses Most Of Its Impressiveness.

Knowledge Of What Is Possible Is The Beginning Of Happiness.