I Rejoiced In My Progress, Mourned My

I Saw The Tracks Of Angels In The Earth: The Beauty Of Heaven Walking By Itself On The World.

I Freeze And Burn, Love Is Bitter And Sweet, My Sighs Are Tempests And My Tears Are Floods, I Am In Ecstasy And Agony, I Am Possessed By Memories Of Her And I Am In Exile From Myself.

There Is No Lighter Burden, Nor More Agreeable, Than A Pen. Other Pleasures Fail Us Or Wound Us While They Charm, But The Pen We Take Up Rejoicing And Lay Down With Satisfaction, For It Has The Power To Advantage Not Only Its Lord And Master, But Many Others As Well, Even Though They Be Far Away - Sometimes, Indeed, Though They Be Not Born For Thousands Of Years To Come.

I Know And Love The Good, Yet, Ah! The Worst Pursue.

Books Have Led Some To Learning And Others To Madness.