The Worst Of Madmen Is A Saint

Why Did I Write? Whose Sin To Me Unknown Dipt Me In Ink, My Parents', Or My Own? As Yet A Child, Nor Yet A Fool To Fame, I Lisp'd In Numbers, For The Numbers Came.

How Vast A Memory Has Love!

Every Professional Was Once An Amateur.

Wine Works The Heart Up, Wakes The Wit, There Is No Cure 'gainst Age But It

There Are Some Solitary Wretches Who Seem To Have Left The Rest Of Mankind, Only, As Eve Left Adam, To Meet The Devil In Private.