And All I Loved, I Loved Alone.

The Rudiment Of Verse May, Possibly, Be Found In The Spondee.

There Are Moments When, Even To The Sober Eye Of Reason, The World Of Our Sad Humanity Must Assume The Aspect Of Hell.

In The One Instance, The Dreamerloses Sight Of This Object In A Wilderness Of Deductions And Suggestionsuntilhe Finds The Incitamentum, Or First Cause Of His Musings,... Forgotten. In My Case, The Primary Object Was Invariably Frivolous, Although Assuming, Through The Medium Of My Distempered Vision, A Refracted And Unreal Importance.

The Death Of A Beautiful Woman, Is Unquestionably The Most Poetical Topic In The World.

Man's Real Life Is Happy, Chiefly Because He Is Ever Expecting That It Soon Will Be So.