Let Us Be Very Strange

I Nauseate Walking; 'tis A Country Diversion, I Loathe The Country.

Music Has Charms To Soothe A Savage Breast, To Soften Rocks, Or Bend A Knotted Oak. I've Read That Things Inanimate Have Moved, And, As With Living Souls, Have Been Inform'd, By Magic Numbers And Persuasive Sound.

If Happiness In Self-content Is Placed, The Wise Are Wretched, And Fools Only Blessed.

One Minute Gives Invention To Destroy; What To Rebuild, Will A Whole Age Employ.

Words Are The Weak Support Of Cold Indifference; Love Has No Language To Be Heard.