November Always Seemed To Me The Norway

His Cheek Is His Biographer- As Long As He Can Blush.

Memory Is A Strange Bell—jubilee, And Knell.

My Friends Are My Estate. Forgive Me Then The Avarice To Hoard Them. They Tell Me Those Who Were Poor Early Have Different Views Of Gold. I Don't Know How That Is. God Is Not So Wary As We, Else He Would Give Us No Friends, Lest We Forget Him.

One Need Not Be A Chamber To Be Haunted.

The Things Of Which We Want The Proof Are Those We Know The Best.