I See The Waves Upon The Shore,

A Poet Is A Nightingale, Who Sits In Darkness And Sings To Cheer Its Own Solitude With Sweet Sounds.

How Wonderful Is Death! Death And His Brother Sleep.

Death Will Come When Thou Art Dead, Soon, Too Soon.

The Galilean Is Not A Favorite Of Mine. So Far From Owing Him Any Thanks For His Favor, I Cannot Avoid Confessing That I Owe A Secret Grudge To His Carpentership.

A Dream Has Power To Poison Sleep.