Where Soil Is, Men Grow, Whether To

Though The Most Beautiful Creature Were Waiting For Me At The End Of A Journey Or A Walk; Though The Carpet Were Of Silk, The Curtains Of The Morning Clouds; The Chairs And Sofa Stuffed With Cygnet's Down; The Food Manna, The Wine Beyond Claret, The Window Opening On Winander Mere, I Should Not Feel -or Rather My Happiness Would Not Be So Fine, As My Solitude Is Sublime.

I Must Choose Between Despair And Energy──i Choose The Latter.

Thou Foster-child Of Silence And Slow Time.

You Cannot Conceive How I Ache To Be With You: How I Would Die For One Hour.

I Have An Habitual Feeling Of My Real Life Having Past, And That I Am Leading A Posthumous Existence.