If Something Is Not Beautiful, It Is

On A Lone Winter Evening, When The Frost Has Wrought A Silence.

Joy, Whose Hand Is Ever At His Lips, Bidding Adieu

Blessed Is The Healthy Nature; It Is The Coherent, Sweetly Co-operative, Not Incoherent, Self-distracting, Self-destructive One!

Here Lies One Whose Name Was Writ In Water.

The Public - A Thing I Cannot Help Looking Upon As An Enemy, And Which I Cannot Address Without Feelings Of Hostility.