For Each Believes His Glimm'ering Lamp To

Travellers, Like Poets, Are Mostly An Angry Race: By Falling Into A Daily Fit Of Passion, I Proved To The Governor And His Son, Who Were Profuse In Their Attentions, That I Was In Earnest.

The More I Study Religions The More I Am Convinced That Man Never Worshipped Anything But Himself.

Cease, Man, To Mourn, To Weep, To Wail; Enjoy Thy Shining Hour Of Sun; We Dance Along Death's Icy Brink, But Is The Dance Less Full Of Fun?

Indeed He Knows Not How To Know Who Knows Not Also How To Un-know.

Do What Thy Manhood Bids Thee Do.