There Is No Instinct Like That Of

Divine In Hookas, Glorious In A Pipe When Tipp'd With Amber, Mellow, Rich, And Ripe;... Yet Thy True Lovers More Admire By Far Thy Naked Beauties - Give Me A Cigar!

We Of The Craft Are All Crazy.

It Is Not For Minds Like Ours To Give Or To Receive Flatter; Yet The Praises Of Sincerity Have Ever Been Permitted To The Voice Of Friendship

Ancient Of Days! August Athena! Where, Where Are Thy Men Of Might? Thy Grand In Soul? Gone--glimmering Through The Dream Of Things That Were; First In The Race That Led To Glory's Goal, They Won, And Pass'd Away--is This The Whole?

I Stood Among Them, But Not Of Them: In A Shroud Of Thoughts Which Were Not Their Thoughts.