The Burden Of The Incommunicable.

Thou Hast The Keys Of Paradise, Oh, Just, Subtle, And Mighty Opium!

Even Imperfection Itself May Have Its Ideal Or Perfect State.

But My Way Of Writing Is Rather To Think Aloud, And Follow My Own Humours, Than Much To Consider Who Is Listening To Me; And, If I Stop To Consider What Is Proper To Be Said To This Or That Person, I Shall Soon Come To Doubt Whether Any Part At All Is Proper.

War Has A Deeper And More Ineffable Relation To Hidden Grandeurs In Man Than Has Yet Been Deciphered.

Far Better, And More Cheerfully, I Could Dispense With Some Part Of The Downright Necessaries Of Life, Than With Certain Circumstances Of Elegance And Propriety In The Daily Habits Of Using Them.