Shall I Ask The Brave

Damn The Age. I'll Write For Antiquity.

This Very Night I Am Going To Leave Off Tobacco! Surely There Must Be Some Other World In Which This Unconquerable Purpose Shall Be Realised.

A Garden Was The Primitive Prison, Till Man With Promethean Felicity And Boldness, Luckily Sinned Himself Out Of It.

The True Poet Dreams Being Awake.

By Myself Walking, To Myself Talking.