Solitude Is Very Sad, Too Much Company

Writing Is Learning To Say Nothing, More Cleverly Every Day.

Does Not The Latent Feeling That Much Of Their Striving Is To No Purpose Tend To Infuse Large Quantities Of Sham Into Men's Work?

Ring-ting! I Wish I Were A Primrose, A Bright Yellow Primrose Blowing In The Spring! The Stooping Boughs Above Me, The Wandering Bee To Love Me, The Fern And Moss To Creep Across, And The Elm-tree For Our King!

One Who Can See Without Seeming To See-- That's An Observer As Good As Three.

Now Autumn's Fire Burns Slowly Along The Woods And Day By Day The Dead Leaves Fall And Melt.