Memory, Bosom-spring Of Joy.

I Look'd To Heav'n, And Try'd To Pray; But Or Ever A Prayer Had Gusht, A Wicked Whisper Came And Made My Heart As Dry As Dust.

Nothing Great Was Ever Achieved Without Enthusiasm. For What Is Enthusiasm But The Oblivion And Swallowing-up Of Self In An Object Dearer Than Self?

Friends Should Be Weighed, Not Told; Who Boasts To Have Won A Multitude Of Friends Has Never Had One.

I Love Being Superior To Myself Better Than [to] My Equals.

About, About, In Reel And Rout The Death Fires Danced At Night.