Ink Is The Blood Of The Printing-press.

I Was All Ear, And Took In Strains That Might Create A Soul Under The Ribs Of Death.

Spirits That Live Throughout, Vital In Every Part, Not As Frail Man, In Entrails, Heart Or Head, Liver Or Reins, Cannot But By Annihilating Die.

A Good Book Is The Precious Lifeblood Of A Master Spirit.

Which Way I Fly Is Hell; Myself Am Hell.

To-morrow To Fresh Woods, And Pastures New.