How Oft A Summer Shower

I Long For Scenes Where Man Has Never Trod;... There To Abide With My Creator, God.

Language Has Not The Power To Speak What Love Indites: The Soul Lies Buried In The Ink That Writes.

To-morrow Comes, True Copy Of To-day,and Empty Shadow Of What Is To Be;yet Cheated Hope On Future Still Depends,and Ends But Only When Our Being Ends.

The Present Is The Funeral Of The Past, And Man The Living Sepulchre Of Life.

I Am Gennerally Understood Tho I Do Not Use That Awkward Squad Of Pointings Called Commas Colons Semicolons Etc.