Good Taste Is His Religion,

Strange Mystery Of Our Nature, That Those In Whom Genius Develops Itself In Imagination, Thus Taking Its Most Ethereal Form, Should Yet Be The Most Dependent On The Opinions Of Others!

My Tears Are Buried In My Heart, Like Cave-locked Fountains Sleeping.

I Have No Parting Sigh To Give, So Take My Parting Smile.

Confidence Is Its Own Security.

Toil Is The Portion Of Day, As Sleep Is That Of Night; But If There Be One Hour Of The Twenty-four Which Has The Life Of Day Without Its Labor, And The Rest Of Night Without Its Slumber, It Is The Lovely And Languid Hour Of Twilight.