The Modern Masters Promise Very Little

In My Joy I Thrust My Hand Into The Live Embers, But Quickly Drew It Out With A Cry Of Pain. How Strange, I Thought That The Same Cause Should Produce Such Opposite Effects.

The Labours Of Men Of Genius, However Erroneously Directed, Scarcely Ever Fail In Ultimately Turning To The Solid Advantage Of Mankind.

She Was No Longer That Happy Creature Who In Earlier Youth Wandered With Me On The Banks Of The Lake And Talked With Ecstasy Of Our Future Prospects. The First Of Those Sorrows Which Are Sent To Wean Us From The Earth Had Visited Her, And Its Dimming Influence Quenched Her Dearest Smiles.

I Ought To Be Thy Adam, But I Am Rather The Fallen Angel.

Ennui, The Demon, Waited At The Threshold Of His Noiseless Refuge, And Drove Away The Stirring Hopes And Enlivening Expectations, Which Form The Better Part Of Life.