Memory Is A Strange Bell—jubilee, And Knell.

To Possess Is Past The Instant; We Achieve The Joy, Immortality Contented, Were Anomaly.

Heaven Is So Far Of The Mind That Were The Mind Dissolved - The Site Of It By Architect Could Not Again Be Proved.

Portraits Are To Daily Faces As An Evening West To A Fine, Pedantic Sunshine In A Satin Vest.

The Appetite For Silence Is Seldom An Acquired Taste.

There Is No Frigate Like A Book To Take Us Lands Away Nor Any Coursers Like A Page Of Prancing Poetry.