He’s More Myself Than I Am

How Strange! I Thought, Though Everybody Hated And Despised Each Other, They Could Not Avoid Loving Me.

I'm Happiest When Most Away I Can Bear My Soul From Its Home Of Clay On A Windy Night When The Moon Is Bright And The Eye Can Wander Through Worlds Of Light— When I Am Not And None Beside— Nor Earth Nor Sea Nor Cloudless Sky— But Only Spirit Wandering Wide Through Infinite Immensity.

Time Brought Resignation And A Melancholy Sweeter Than Common Joy.

It Is Strange People Should Be So Greedy, When They Are Alone In The World.

I Have No Pity! I Have No Pity! The More Worms Writhe, The More I Yearn To Crush Out Their Entrails! It Is A Moral Teething, And I Grind With Greater Energy, In Proportion To The Increase Of Pain.