Prolonged Endurance Tames The Bold.

I Cannot Conceive Why People Will Always Mix Up My Own Character And Opinions With Those Of The Imaginary Beings Which, As A Poet, I Have The Right And Liberty To Draw.

Rough Johnson, The Great Moralist.

Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies As Much A Part Of Me, As I Of Them?

There Is No Traitor Like Him Whose Domestic Treason Plants The Poniard Within The Breast That Trusted To His Truth

I Love The Language, It Sounds As If It Should Be Writ On Satin With Syllables Which Breathe Of The Sweet South