Ah! My Poor Brain Is Racked And

Superstition Is The Poesy Of Practical Life; Hence, A Poet Is None The Worse For Being Superstitious.

He Is Dead In This World Who Has No Belief In Another.

Chess Is The Touchstone Of Intellect.

No One Feels Himself Easy In A Garden Which Does Not Look Like The Open Country.

The Light Is There, And Colors Surround Us. However, If There Were No Light Nor Colors In Our Own Eye, We Wouldn't Perceive Such Things Outside Of Us.