A Man's Mind Grows Narrow In A

Since Life Itself Is Uncertain, Nothing Which Has Life For Its Basis Can Boast Much Stability.

Those Who Do Not Feel Pain Seldom Think That It Is Felt.

I Inherited A Vile Melancholy From My Father, Which Has Made Me Mad All My Life, At Least Not Sober.

Words Too Familiar, Or Too Remote, Defeat The Purpose Of A Poet. From Those Sounds Which We Hear On Small Or On Coarse Occasions, We Do Not Easily Receive Strong Impressions, Or Delightful Images; And Words To Which We Are Nearly Strangers, Whenever They Occur, Draw That Attention On Themselves Which They Should Transmit To Other Things.

To Build Is To Be Robbed.