Biochemically, Love Is Just Like Eating Large

How Often From The Steep Of Echoing Hill Or Thicket Have We Heard Celestial Voices To The Midnight Air, Sole, Or Responsive Each To Other's Note, Singing Their Great Creator?

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

Thus Belial, With Words Clothed In Reason's Garb, Counseled Ignoble Ease, And Peaceful Sloth, Not Peace.

That Virtue Therefore Which Is But A Youngling In The Contemplation Of Evil, And Knows Not The Utmost That Vice Promises To Her Followers, And Rejects It, Is But A Blank Virtue, Not A Pure; Her Whiteness Is But An Excremental Whiteness.

Solitude Is Sometimes The Best Society.